A Promise to Keep
by GSRFanGirl
Summary: After a 10-month absence, Sara, still struggling with the ghosts from her past, returns to Vegas, only to find that Grissom has already left. It's mostly GSR, but it does have some Wedges & YoBling, too. For my old readers, new stuff begins at Ch 73.
1. Chapter 1

September 2008

"I can do this," Sara said to herself in the rearview mirror for the fifth time that morning. She had been sitting in the parking lot of the lab for the last 15 minutes, trying to work up the nerve to go in. It had been a long time since she had last walked through those doors, and she knew what would happen when she did. The stares. The whispers. The feigned politeness from the people she once considered and still hoped were her friends, but she also knew she had to walk through them again. She had made a promise, and she was going to keep that promise, no matter how much it hurt to do so.

Sara reapplied her lipstick and adjusted her clothes for the last time. She was still trying to get used to the new her--the makeup, the highlights, the LA wardrobe, the Mystic tan. Why she had let Cameron talk her into the makeover, she would never know. Maybe the better question was how she had ever become friends with someone like Cameron Lane anyway. Cammie was the kind of girl Sara would have hated in high school--the perfect blonde with the perfect hair, the perfect teeth, the perfect everything--the kind of girl who got to walk in slow motion down the hall with an Imperial Teen song playing in the background while a geek like Sara just tried not to trip, the kind of girl who grew up to be a soap star or a model or a pop princess instead of a CSI. Heck, Sara thought, Cammie was the kind of girl she would have hated a year ago. When Richard first introduced them, it took every ounce of will power Sara had not to kill the girl with sarcasm, but now…Well, she didn't know how she would have survived the last few months if it hadn't been for Cammie.

Besides, she had to give the girl some credit. Cammie didn't exactly grow up to be a soap star, more like a soap extra. Playing the reoccurring role of "Unnamed Waitress 3" on a soap opera for the last two years didn't exactly make Cammie the next Susan Lucci, but she wasn't about to tell her that. And the girl did manage to get a degree in psychology from USC while pursuing her acting career. God knows, she and Richard both needed a good shrink, and Cammie's advice came free. Plus, Cammie seemed to have a lot more success in the relationship department than she did, so maybe there was a method to her madness. Thus, when Cammie offered to make Sara her new pet project, she didn't protest, at least not much anyway. She did put her foot down on going blonde. No way she was going that far to keep her promise.

Sara took one last look in the mirror and sighed. The graveyard shift would be leaving in 30 minutes. If she didn't go in now, she was going to have to wait until tomorrow. "I can do this," Sara repeated to herself as she got out of the car. "I can do this," and with that, Sara entered the building.

Sara said a quick "hello" to Judy as she passed the reception area. She knew it would only be a matter of seconds before Judy called to the back and stirred up the lab rats and only a matter of minutes before the lab rats told everyone else in the building that she was back. Hopefully, the rumor mill wasn't moving so fast these days that Grissom would be able to slip out the back door before she had a chance to talk to him.

As she approached the closed door to Grissom's office, Sara felt the knots in her stomach tighten even more. The last time she was here, she was trying decide whether to leave the letter on Grissom's desk or to leave it with Judy. She hadn't wanted to tell him that way, but she knew if she had told him about her plans in person, he would have tried to talk her out of them or insisted on going with her and she wouldn't have had the strength to say no. The journey into her past was a journey she had to make alone, even if it broke Grissom's heart. She had hoped she would be able to come back, make him understand, and put the pieces back together, but after what she saw on New Year's Eve…

Sara tried to push those thoughts and memories from her mind as she knocked on the door.


	2. Chapter 2

Sara took a deep breath and pushed open the office door, only to find the office empty. "Great," Sara muttered to herself. Apparently she had underestimated the speed of lab rat gossip. "Now what am I going to do?"

Just then Sara heard footsteps behind her. "Sara?"

Sara turned slowly around. "Hey, Catherine."

"You're back."

"Yeah, um, is Grissom around here somewhere? He's not in his office, and he wasn't at home."

"No."

"Is he still at a crime scene then? I really need to talk to him about something."

"No, he's gone, Sara."

"Gone where?"

"I don't know. He took a leave of absence in May. He didn't say where he was going. We just all assumed he was going to find you. I guess we were wrong."

"Yeah," Sara said, as she started chewing on her lower lip.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sara said, managing a half-smile. "I should probably get going. Nice seeing you again, Catherine."

"Yeah, you, too," Catherine replied.

As Sara walked back towards the reception, Catherine shook her head. "Poor kid."

* * *

Sara was so lost in her own thoughts as to what to do next, she didn't even see Nick, Warrick, and Greg until she walked smack into them.

"Hey, watch where you're…Sara?" she heard Warrick say, snapping her out of her reverie.

"Hi, guys." Sara said, backing towards the door and away from her friends.

"You're back," Nick said.

"Yeah, um…" Sara responded. She could feel the tears welling up in here eyes. The last thing she wanted was for the guys to see her cry.

"You are back, aren't you?" Greg asked.

"Yes, no, I don't know." Sara felt a tear slide down her cheek. Great, she thought, just great. She had to get out of here now. Sara started to push open the door. "Um, I've really got to go. I have this appointment that I really can't miss… I'll talk to you later, okay?" Sara rushed out the door before giving them a chance to respond.

As the door closed behind her, Warrick and Nick turned to Greg. "Go after her," Nick said. "She doesn't know that we know. Make sure she's okay."

Greg nodded and ran out the door. "Hey, Sara, wait up!"


	3. Chapter 3

The tears were freely flowing now as Sara sat in her car. God, how she hated crying, yet that's all she seemed to do anymore. She had learned early on in foster care that tears were a weakness the other kids could exploit, so she had learned to hide her emotions, to bite back the tears. She had built a wall around her emotions and kept it there for over 20 years. Every now and then a case would come along that would poke a hole in it, cause her to lose her temper and make the nightmares come back, but it never came down all the way. Then Natalie happened. That night in the desert changed everything.

Sara knew she should have trusted Grissom enough to tell him how much she was hurting, but such trust didn't come easy for her, not with her background, not even with Grissom. She knew he blamed himself for what had happened to her. She could see it in his eyes when she woke up in the hospital, during those months when she struggled just to bathe and dress herself, every time the pain in her arm was so bad she couldn't fall asleep. She couldn't burden him with this pain, too, so she put a smile on her face and pretended everything was okay. She switched shifts. She tolerated Ronnie and her endless questions. She read up on colony collapse disorder and bought a bee suit. She even married him, but things weren't okay. They hadn't been okay for Sara for a very long time, and they didn't look like they were getting any better.

Sara turned to look as the front passenger door opened and Greg got in the car.

"Greg, now's really not a good time."

"You looked upset back there. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You're not, are you?'

"No, not really. I waited too long to come back."

"I tried to call and tell you he'd left, but it said your number was no longer in service."

"I had the number changed. I thought it was better, considering. He kept calling like nothing had happened. I just couldn't take it anymore. It was easier to change the number than to confront him."

"I'm sorry, Sara. Maybe if I'd gone to Grissom and told him about our conversation that day in the locker room, none of this would have ever happened."

"It's not your fault, Greg. It's mine. I'm the one who ran away, and Grissom's the one who did what he did. You're just the one who let me crash on your couch and loaned me the gas money to go back to LA."

"Are you staying this time?"

"I don't know. I have an appointment to talk to Ecklie tomorrow about getting my job back, but I made it before I knew about Grissom."

"You should keep it. Catherine's in charge now. You can probably talk Ecklie into letting you back on graveyard."

"I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

"Look, Warrick, Nick, and I are going to grab some breakfast. You should come. It'd be like old times. My treat."

"I'm not really up for breakfast right now, Greg, but thanks for the offer."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"So what are you going to do now?"

"Go home, I guess."

"Where's that?"

"Good question."


	4. Chapter 4

Richard was waiting for Sara on the steps outside the townhouse when she arrived. "Home sweet home," Sara said to herself. "Or at least it used to be." Sara got out of the car, walked over to the steps, and sat next to him. "Hey, Ritchie."

"Hey, sis," Ritchie responded. "I guess things didn't go the way you wanted them to."

"Not exactly. How was she?"

"The perfect angel. The complete opposite of her mother." Sara jabbed an elbow into her brother's side. "Ow, that hurt."

"Good. It was supposed to," Sara said, as she lifted her infant daughter from the stroller. Ava was the reason she had come back. Sara had made a promise to her daughter when she was born that she would do everything in her power to make sure she had a better childhood than she did. Even if that meant letting Cammie make her over into Sara 2.0. Even if that meant swallowing her pride and begging Ecklie for her job back. Even if that meant finding a way to forgive Grissom.

"Hey, baby, I know Mommy said that you were going to get to meet your Daddy today, but it looks like Daddy decided to take a little trip without telling Mommy, and I'm not sure when he's coming back."

"Great, sis. After everything else he's done, Dr. McBuggy has decided to go on the run."

"Dr. McWhat?"

"Dr. McBuggy." Sara glared at her brother. "Sorry," Ritchie apologized. "It's what Cammie's been calling him. I thought you knew."

"Obviously not, and he's not on the run. He's taking a leave of absence."

"You took a leave of absence."

"So?"

"You were running, Sara."

"Whatever, Ritchie. Let's just go in, okay. Ava's probably hungry, and I'm really tired from the drive."

Sara paused as she put her key in the lock, remembering the last time she had done so.

* * *

_Sara was two months pregnant when she left Las Vegas for the first time last November. She didn't know it at the time, but she should have. In typical Sara fashion, she had managed to rationalize away every symptom of pregnancy. Her periods had never been regular, so she wasn't that concerned when she missed the first one or even the second. While she had noticed that her clothes were fitting tighter, she had figured that it was her own fault. She hadn't been exercising, eating, or sleeping right since the kidnapping, so she just told herself that she would get to the gym more and stop consoling herself with ice cream when she couldn't sleep. The bouts of nausea she contributed to nerves, nerves over leaving her husband and her job, nerves over seeing her mother and her brother for the first time in years. It wasn't until she passed out in the kitchen Christmas morning and Ritchie forced her to go the hospital that Sara had to finally face the truth. She was pregnant._

_Sara spent the better part of the next two days curled up in her brother's guest room, staring at the wall, trying to figure out what she was going to do. She picked up the phone a least a dozen times to call Grissom, but she kept putting it back down. They had never really discussed having kids. Sara had admitted on more than one occasion that she wasn't good with them, and Grissom…Well, he had enough problems relating to adults. She had no idea how he was going to handle having a kid. Then there was the problem of parental role models. She had Dad the Batterer and Mom the Murderer. Yeah, she had really lucked out in that department._

_Sara finally decided that there was only one thing she could do--go home. Figuring out her future was suddenly more important than figuring out her past. The visit with her mom hadn't exactly provided her with the epiphany that she had been hoping for; instead, it had just made her mad. Her mother still didn't get that what she did was wrong. She wasn't sorry or apologetic in the least. She still believed that she did what she had to do. As for Ritchie, it was nice getting to know him again, but he also reminded her of what she had run away from to begin with. Death. It was amazing in a way that they had both chosen similar lines of work--Ritchie, a homicide detective; her, a criminalist--and yet, at the same time, it was incredibly sad. Two children forever trying to atone for the sins of their father or, in their case, the sins of their mother. Apparently, it didn't matter if Sara was in the City of Angels or the City of Sin. Either place, she couldn't escape death._

_On New Year's Eve, Sara packed her car and headed back to Vegas. She thought the day fit the occasion. She was on the eve of a new year, a new start, a new life. She had wanted to surprise Grissom, so she hadn't told him she was coming. About an hour from Vegas, it began to rain. The closer she got, the heavier the rain came down. She hadn't seen it rain that hard since that night in the desert. Maybe she should have seen the rain as a sign to turn around and go back to LA, but she didn't. It just made her want to go home that much more._

_When she got to the townhouse, she thought about knocking but changed her mind. It was still her house. Sara let herself in and heard loud music coming from upstairs. She was about to call out Grissom's name when she noticed the wine glasses on the coffee table. Two glasses in fact, one with the unmistakable impression of red lips on the rim, and a nearly empty bottle of wine. It took her another minute to register the trail of discarded clothes on the floor marking a path to the stairs._

_Sara walked around them and slowly went up the stairs. She felt like one of those girls in the horror movies who run up the stairs when they should be running out the front door, but she couldn't help herself. She had to know. Sara crept down the hall. The door to the master bedroom was partially opened, and suddenly Sara was able to see all she needed to see._

_Feeling as though her world was crashing down around her, Sara ran back down the stairs, out the front door, and into the rain. She stood there a minute, trying to breathe as the rain soaked through her clothes. Two months, Sara thought. She hadn't even been gone two months, and already he had moved on. With her. Of all people, it had to be with her._

_Sara got into her car. She could barely see the road from the rain. She didn't know what she going to do. Her credit cards were maxed out, and she had at most 20 left in the bank, so there was no way she was going to be able to get a hotel room. She didn't even have enough gas to get back to LA. She could go to Nick or Warrick's, but they lived on the other side of town. There was no way she was going to make it there in one piece in this weather. Greg, she thought. He lived about 10 minutes away. She'd go to Greg's. She just hoped he hadn't moved._

* * *

Richard watched his sister freeze in place. He might not have been around the last few years, but he still knew when his sister was hurting and when she was scared. She had the same look on her face that she had when they were kids, when their father would be in one of his drunken rages and they would hide under the bed, hoping he would be too inebriated to find them.

"You know, we don't have to stay here," he told her. "I can get us a hotel room until we find you another place."

"No, I want to stay. I've lost enough to Heather Kessler. I'm not going to let her take my house, too."


	5. Chapter 5

Nick, Warrick, Greg, and Catherine sat around a booth at Frank's Diner. Catherine made a face at her runny eggs as she poked them with her fork.

"So why do you guys come here again?" Catherine asked. "It can't be for the food."

"It's tradition," the guys said in unison.

"We used to come here with Sara," Greg added.

"Oh," Catherine replied.

"Did she say anything to you, Cath?" Nick asked.

"Not really. She just asked if I'd seen Gil. When I told her that he'd left for parts unknown, she just looked so…sad."

"She was crying in the car. A lot," Greg added.

"You know, in the eight years that I've known Sara, I don't think I've ever seen her cry once," Warrick said.

"Me either," Nick added. "You think she was coming to tell him about the baby?"

"We don't even know she had it," Catherine responded. "She looked mighty thin for someone who just had a baby a few months ago. It took me a lot longer than that to lose the baby weight after Lindsey."

"Maybe she has good genes," Greg said. Everyone looked at Greg. "Well she could. That happens, right?"

"Well, did she say anything to you about it?" Nick asked Greg.

"No, but I didn't ask." Again they all looked at Greg. "What? You told me to go see if she was okay. You didn't say to ask her if she had the baby, if it was a boy or girl, how much it weighed, whether the kid had her eyes or Grissom's."

"Did you see any evidence of one in the car?" asked Warrick.

"Yeah, there was a crying baby in the backseat. She left him out there with the windows cracked while she ran inside. We just ignored him while we talked."

"You know what I meant. A car seat. Baby bottles. Pacifiers."

"No, I didn't see anything, but then again I wasn't looking. She was crying. I was trying to make sure she was okay like you told me to."

"I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the idea of Sara with a kid," Nick said. "You know, I love Sara to death, but the girl freaks around kids."

"Yeah, well I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the idea of Grissom with Lady Heather," Warrick said. "I've heard rumors about them for years, but I never thought they were true. We are talking about Grissom here. Straight-laced, by-the-book, dots-all-his-i's-and-crosses-all-his-t's Grissom."

"He wasn't so by-the-book when he started fishing off the company pier with Sara," said Catherine. "I guess it just goes to show you never know what goes on behind closed doors."

Warrick shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Greg, did she tell you if she's staying?" Nick asked. "I know, we didn't tell you to ask her that. We only told you to see if she's okay."

"Actually, I did ask her that, thank you. She said she had an appointment with Ecklie tomorrow. She just didn't know if she was going to keep it. I told her she should try to talk him into letting her back on graveyard."

"Maybe we should go by and talk to her. She might think we don't want her back. You didn't tell her about the fight you had with Grissom, did you?" Nick asked Greg.

"Yeah, Nick. I walked up to her and said, 'Hey, Sara, how's it going? Oh, by the way, I just thought you should know that I got sick of everyone talking about you and Grissom bullying me, so I went off on him, and now everyone in the lab and probably everyone in the police department knows about your childhood , your pregnancy, and Lady Heather. Sure, it got me suspended for a week, and I had to move to swing until Grissom left--Ronnie says hi by the way--but it was totally worth it. Have a nice day.'"

"Guys, maybe we should just give her some space for now," Catherine suggested. "I'm sure she's dealing with a lot of emotional stuff, and she probably doesn't want us to watch her doing it. We just need to give her some room to cry, scream, break things, do whatever she needs to do. I'll call Ecklie tomorrow, see what's going on, and we'll go from there."

"Sounds like a plan," Warrick said. Nick and Greg nodded in agreement.


	6. Chapter 6

_Sara was lying face down in the sand, too drugged to move or to protest what was happening to her. Every time she took a breath, she inhaled more of the wet earth. She could feel it in her nose, in her mouth, on her lips, but, unable to move either arm, she was powerless to get it out. The pain in her head was excruciating, but the pain in her left arm was even worse. She wanted to run, to fight, to scream, but she couldn't do any of those things. All she could do was lay there and wait for it to end._

_Between peals of thunder, Sara heard a baby cry. Her baby. She tried to call out her daughter's name, but her cries were muffled by the sand. A hand then touched her face, turning it to the side. Sara opened her eyes to see her kidnapper staring back at her. "Natalie," Sara managed to whisper._

"_It's okay, Sara. She's going to be my special girl now," Natalie said._

_As Natalie walked away, Sara started to cry. She tried to scream again. "Nat…"_

"…_alie!"_

"Wake up, Sara! Wake up!" Sara awoke to see her brother's concerned face above her. "You were having the dream again."

Sara wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Ava?"

"She's fine. See, look," Richard said, nodding towards the crib in the corner.

Sara got out of the bed, walked over to the crib, and looked down at her daughter. Ava was sleeping peacefully, oblivious to the danger that haunted her mother's dreams every night. Sara stroked her daughter's cheek, unable to hold back the tears.

"Sara, you're safe now. Natalie's locked away in a mental institution. She can't hurt you anymore. She can't hurt Ava."

"No one's safe, Ritchie. Mom wasn't safe from Dad. Dad wasn't safe from Mom. I wasn't safe from Natalie. I had a gun, Ritchie. I had a gun, and I was trained in weaponless defense, and I still ended up under that car."

"But you survived, Sara. You survived."

Sara shrugged. "This time, but who's to say I will the next time."

"What next time, Sara?"

Sara shrugged again.

"Look, Sara. You can't go through life being afraid of the next time. You can't go through life being afraid of the boogeyman. That's no way to live."

"But the boogeyman is real, Ritchie. You know that as well as I do. He's the guy who picks a woman up at a bar, kills her, and buries her in his basement; the woman who shakes her child so hard that his brain starts to bleed; the student who takes a gun to school to get revenge on his bullies; the man who waits for his wife to fall asleep so he can rape their daughter; the foster child who grows up to recreate her killer miniatures. The boogeyman is real, Ritchie. We put him away, and someone else just takes his place."

"So what do you want to do, Sara? Go back to LA and get a job at Disneyland? Pretend it really is a small world after all? Buy some mouse ears and some rose-colored glasses? What?"

"I don't know."

"Sara, you're a gifted criminalist. I know your job sucks sometimes. So does mine. Everyday we see people at their cruelest--the vilest side of human nature. We see more atrocities in one week than some people see in one lifetime. I know it doesn't always feel like it, but we are making a difference, Sara. Because of us, there's one less murderer, one less rapist, one less child molester on the streets. You can't give up the fight now just because you don't like the odds."

"I didn't say I was giving up. It just gets to be too much sometimes is all."

"So find an outlet."

"I've already heard this lecture, Ritchie. Years ago. From Grissom."

"Well now you're hearing it from me. Learn to leave the darkness at work, Sara. When your shift ends, go home. Play with your daughter. Take your dog for a walk. Go out with your friends. Read a book, and by book, I mean a real book, Sara. James Patterson. Stephen King. Danielle Steele. A Harlequin romance, I don't care, so long as it's not a forensic textbook. Watch something other than reality crime shows on TV. Do something, Sara. Just don't let the darkness follow you home."

"Is that your way of telling me you want your guest room back?"

"No, Sara. That's my way of telling you to take your life back. Stop letting people like Natalie Davis, Gil Grissom, and Mistress Leather--"

"Lady Heather."

"Same difference. Stop letting people like that define who you are. If you want to go back to LA with me, if you want to go back to tending bar with Cammie and worrying about your manicure or whether pink or brown will be this season's black, then fine. I'll fully support your choice, but I think you know that you want more than that, Sara. You have since we were kids."

"I'll think about it."

"That's all I'm asking."

"I think I'm going to try to go back to sleep now."

"Okay. If you need anything, I'll be on the couch."

"Ritchie?"

"Yeah."

"If I haven't said it before, thanks. For letting me stay with you. For coming back with me. For everything."

"You're welcome, sis. Sweet dreams."


	7. Chapter 7

Sara sat in a chair in Ecklie's office, nervously fiddling with the ring on her left hand. She had struggled with the decision of whether to wear it that morning. She didn't want to give Ecklie any more reason not to take her back, but at the same time she didn't want him to find out later and fire her for hiding something from him again. When Grissom had asked her to marry him last October, she had been stunned--stunned and stung to be exact. At first she hadn't known what to say to the proposal. She had seen what marriage could do to people, how it could make them turn on each other and cause unconscionable pain. Then she had watched Grissom take care of her bee sting. He's not Dad, she had thought. He's not even close, and I'm not Mom. We can do this. We don't have to be like them.

Sara had taken a leap of faith and told Grissom, "Yes. Let's do it." She had been afraid, however, that she would lose the nerve to follow through with that "yes" if they waited to get married, so she had convinced him that they should get married right away. They had changed out of their bee suits and driven straight to the Clark County Marriage Bureau to get a marriage license. They had then found one of those one-stop-shop chapels on the strip that provided everything else they needed--the dress, the rings, the flowers, the witnesses. An hour later they were back in the parking lot of the lab, officially husband and wife.

"I don't think we should tell anyone just yet," Sara had told him, as they sat in the car. "It's not that I'm ashamed or that I don't want them to know. It's just that they're still trying to get used to the idea of us, and before…I don't know. It was kind of nice before when we were the only ones who knew about us. It was like we had something special to go home to every night, something pure and good and untouched. Natalie took that away from us. I just think it would be nice to have something that was just ours again, at least for a little while."

Grissom had agreed and slipped his ring into his pocket. He had told her later that he had put it back on in his office when he thought he was alone and that Catherine had come in and almost caught him with it. After that, they had tried to be more careful. They had agreed to take their rings off when they got to work and to not put them back on again until their shifts had ended. Sara, however, would sometimes slip hers back on when no one was looking, keeping her hand in her pocket so no one could see. Sometimes it was the only comfort she had when things got tough on swing. She had yet to find Grissom's ring in the townhouse. Sara wondered if he was wearing his ring wherever he was or if he had chunked it out the window the night she left. She also wondered if he had been wearing it when he slept with Heather.

Ecklie finally walked into the office, 15 minutes late for their appointment.

"Sorry I'm late, Sidle. I got tied up with something," he told Sara, as he sat down at his desk.

Yeah, and I bet that something had a sequined g-string and a garter full of dollar bills, Sara thought, looking at Ecklie. She smiled and said, "No problem. I didn't mind waiting."

"So I guess you're here to ask for your old job back."

"Yes."

"Do you want to tell me why I should give it to you? You left us in a real bind when you left, Sara. You asked for a few weeks off, but you took nearly a year. You had open cases that needed to be closed and closed cases that needed to be testified to in court. Your partner, Ronnie, was still a CSI Level 1. She couldn't do those things by herself. I had to find people to cover for you and to train her. Then there's the half a dozen complaints in your file about your temper and your insubordination, among other things."

"I know. I'm sorry. If you'll just let me explain."

"Go ahead."

Sara took a deep breath. I might as well tell him everything, she thought. Maybe I'll start crying, and he'll feel sorry for me and take me back.

"Have you ever had something really bad happened to you?" Sara asked Ecklie. "I'm not talking about the kind of bad that happens when you're six and you wet your pants in class or when the girl you ask to prom turns you down or when you catch your wife with the mailman. I'm talking about the kind of bad that changes you forever, the kind of bad that affects your every thought, your every move, the kind of bad that makes you wake up screaming in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, years after it happens."

"I can't say that I have."

"I have. When I was 12, my mother killed my father. My father used to beat her--he used to beat us--and I guess she had finally had enough, so one day she crushed up some sleeping pills, put them in my father's dinner, waited for him to fall asleep, and then stabbed him to death. For years, I wasn't able to remember his death. I remembered the things that happened afterwards--the police showing up, the smell of blood, going to foster care--but I could never remember what came before. And then I got kidnapped. When I was lying under that car, I remembered everything from the night my father died. I remembered waking up to get a glass of water. I remembered walking down the hallway and hearing a noise coming from my parents' bedroom. I remembered standing in the doorway, watching my mother stab my father over and over again, and I remembered screaming. A lot. I don't think I stop screaming until the police came and took my mom away.

When I was in the hospital, the doctors kept me pretty doped up, so I really didn't have to deal with any of that, but when I got out, and Grissom was at work, and it was just me and the dog, it was all I could think about, that and what Natalie had done to me. When I started back to work, everything just felt different to me. I know I've always had problems empathizing with the victim. I've never been able to just cut myself off and feel nothing like Grissom does, but after Natalie it was worse. I think I started to see myself in every crime scene and in every victim. I would go home, and I'd have these nightmares--nightmares about Natalie, about my parents, about victims I didn't even know.

I guess I should have told somebody, asked for help, seen a counselor, or something, but I don't know. It's just always been really hard for me to trust other people or to ask them for help. The thing with Hannah West--I guess that was the last straw for me. I was talking to her, and I just felt like I was suffocating. All I could think about was getting out of here, out of the lab, out of Vegas.

I went to see my mother in prison--I hadn't seen her in probably 20 years--and then I drove down to LA to see my brother, Richard. While I was there, I found out that I was pregnant, so I came back to tell Grissom. Unfortunately, I never got the chance to tell him because I found him with someone else. I panicked, and instead of staying here and dealing with it, I ran straight back to my brother's. By the time I worked up enough nerve to come back again, I had gone into early labor. The doctors were able to stop the contractions, but I had to stay on bed rest and avoid unnecessary stress. That kind of ruled out a road trip. I made it another two months, but my daughter was still born prematurely.

You know, when your child's lying in the neonatal unit, hooked up to a bunch of tubes and monitors, fighting for her life, you make a lot of promises about what you'll do if she'll just live…"

"And I take it yours was to come back here and work things out with Gil?"

"Yeah. I guess I should have called first, huh? Look, I know you think I'm a total screw-up. You made that clear when you asked Grissom to fire me a few years ago, but this job--it's all I know how to do, and I need this job. I really need it. I have a kid to support, and an insane amount of hospital bills to pay off…"

"Sara."

"No, wait. Please let me finish. It's not just this job that I need. I need the people on graveyard. Look, my father's dead. My mother's in jail, and my brother has a life he has to get back to in LA. Maybe one day Ritchie and I will have the kind of relationship that we had when we were kids, but the graveyard shift--they're the only real family I've got. I need them because I don't know if I can do this alone. If you could just give me another chance, I'll do whatever you want--see a P.E.A.P counselor, weekly evaluations, whatever…"

"Okay, Sara."

"Okay?"

"You can come back to work on graveyard. Catherine can do your evaluations if or when Gil returns, or, if you want, you can switch to days or swing then."

"Thanks."

"Are you going to need a few days before you start?"

"Yeah, I'm going to have to find a nanny or a sitter or something."

Ecklie got out his wallet, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Sara. "That's the service my sister uses. It's licensed and bonded, and all the nannies have passed criminal background checks."

"Thanks. Um, there's something else you should know." Sara held up her left hand. "I'm married. To Grissom. I have been since last October. I didn't want you to think that I was hiding it."

"Uh, okay. Anything else you want me to know?"

"No, I guess that's it."

"Okay. I guess I'll see you in a few days then. I'll talk to Catherine, tell her what's going on."

"Thanks."

"And Sara."

"Yes?"

"I'm really sorry about what happened to you when you were kid and about what happened to you last year."

"Thanks, Ecklie. I'll see you in a few days."

As Sara exited Ecklie's office, she pulled out her cell phone and placed a call. "Hi, Greg, it's Sara. You don't happen to know what Grissom did with my dog?"


	8. Chapter 8

Nick was laying on the sofa, watching TV, when he heard a knock on the door. He hit pause on the remote and went to open the door.

"Sara," Nick said, surprised to see Sara standing on his doorstep.

"Hey, Nick. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No, I was just watching the game I TiVoed last night. Come in," Nick said, stepping back from the doorway.

Sara came inside, looked at the paused television screen in the living room, and laughed. "Game, huh? I didn't know Patrick Dempsey played football."

Nick, looking embarrassed, grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. "So how are you doing?" he asked Sara.

"I'm good," Sara answered, looking around the living room. "Greg says you have my dog, but I don't see him anywhere."

"He's in the bedroom. I had to give him a timeout."

"A timeout?"

"Yeah, we had a little disagreement this morning over the trash. I wanted to take it out; he wanted to string it all over the kitchen."

"Oh God, Nick, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. I needed to clean the kitchen anyway. Let me go get him."

Nick disappeared down the hallway. A few seconds later, a large boxer came running into the living room and jumped on Sara, nearly knocking her over. Sara bent down and scratched his head. "Did you miss me, Hank?" Sara asked the dog.

"We all did, Sara," Nick answered for Hank.

Sara stood up and smiled sadly at Nick. "Thanks, Nick," she said. "Even if it's not true."

"Why wouldn't it be true? Did you think we wouldn't miss you?"

Sara shrugged. "After what I did…"

"I get it, Sara. We all do, especially after everything that's happened to you."

"What do you mean 'everything'?"

"You know, your parents, the kidnapping, Lady Heather."

Sara shook her head. "Greg."

"Look, don't get mad at Greg. He got in a fight with Griss, and it all just came out. He was defending your honor."

"Wait. They got in a fight? Like an argument fight or a fight-fight?"

"An argument at first. When you left, Grissom was really withdrawn for awhile, hardly talked to any of us unless it was about a case. Then after New Year's, he just got mean, putting us down, criticizing everything we did. I guess we know why now, but at the time… Anyway, Warrick and I just let it go, but I guess Greg couldn't. One minute everything was fine; the next, they were yelling at each other about you. Then their fists started flying."

"They got in a fist-fight? Seriously?"

"Yeah. Greg gave Grissom a black eye; Grissom split Greg's lip. Some lab equipment got broken. Ecklie suspended them both for a week. They were lucky he didn't suspend them for a month."

"Well, I guess that explains why Ecklie didn't seem too surprised about everything I told him this morning. Does everyone know?"

"Pretty much. I guess that means you kept the appointment."

"Yeah. How did you know about…Never mind, Greg. What did he do, tape record our entire conversation and play it back?"

"Not exactly. He was worried about you. We all are."

"I'm fine. Really," Sara said, grabbing Hank's leash and backing towards the door.

"It's okay if you're not, Sara. If you ever need to talk about anything, I'm here, okay? I know I wasn't there after your kidnapping, not like I should have been, but it's just…"

"You were freaked out by the whole sleeping with the boss thing."

"No. Okay, maybe a little, but that's not why I stayed away. Your kidnapping brought back a lot of memories of my own kidnapping, things I thought I had dealt with and put behind me."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, but I understand what you're going through. The nightmares. The panic attacks. I get it."

"Do they ever go away?"

"Truthfully?" Nick asked. Sara nodded her head. "Not entirely. I still have days when I wake up screaming, convinced I'm back in that box. Sometimes the dreams are so bad, I swear I can feel the ants biting me, and I'm still not a big fan of small spaces. It does get better though, Sara. I promise."

Sara started to tear up. "I'm still having them. Every night. Sometime several times a night."

"Have you talked to anyone about it?"

"Just my brother and his girlfriend. I'm going to make an appointment with a P.E.A.P. counselor next week."

"I guess that means you're definitely coming back."

"Yeah, I'm definitely coming back."

"Good, I'm glad."

"I should probably go now, let you get back to your 'game' and get some sleep before shift. How much do I owe you for dog food?"

"Nothing," Nick answered. Sara raised her eyebrows. "Seriously, Sara, it's on the house."

"Well, I know I've got to owe you something for whatever damage he's caused. He's had to chew up something."

"Nothing I didn't need to replace anyway."

Sara looked around the living room. "Your sofa's new, isn't it? He ate your sofa. Great."

"Sara, really, don't worry about it. This one's a lot more comfortable than the last one. Seriously, it's fine."

"Thanks, Nick. I guess I'll see you at work."

"Yeah, I'll see you." As Sara started to open the door, Nick asked a final question. "Hey, Sara, before you go, there's something I've been wondering. Why on earth did y'all name the dog after your ex-boyfriend?"

"The day we brought him home, we decided to go out for dinner. While we were gone, he chewed up the arm chair, broke my favorite vase, pissed in three pairs of my shoes, and left a nice, stinking surprise in the middle of the bed. When we came back and I saw what he'd done, Hank was the first name that came to mind."

"Well, Hank was a dog."

"Yes, yes, he was."


	9. Chapter 9

Catherine was sitting behind her desk, a perplexed look on her face, as Warrick, Nick, and Greg walked into the office.

"Hey, Cath, what's wrong?" Warrick asked.

"I just got through talking to Ecklie," Catherine responded.

"And let me guess, Ecklie was being Ecklie," Nick said.

"Actually, he was being nice," Catherine said.

"Well, he's always nice to you," Greg said. "I think he's got the hots for you."

"It wasn't just that. He seemed…I don't know…genuinely concerned for Sara," Catherine added.

"Really?" Warrick asked. "Maybe he had a lobotomy for lunch."

"Or got turned into a pod person. You think he can turn Hodges into one, too?" Nick asked.

"Wouldn't that be nice," Catherine commented.

"Maybe he thinks he has a shot at Sara with Grissom gone. Maybe him being a jerk to her all these years has just been his idea of foreplay," Greg said.

Catherine, Warrick, Nick, and Greg collectively shuddered. Warrick spoke first. "Okay, my mind just went somewhere it never needs to go again."

"Mine, too," Nick said.

"So did mine," Catherine added.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Greg apologized.

"Sara came by today to pick up Hank. She says she coming back to work," Nick said.

"That's what Ecklie said, too," Catherine confirmed.

"Now all we need is Grissom, and we'll have the entire team back," Warrick said.

Greg asked, "Yeah, but where the heck is he?"


	10. Chapter 10

_Carabelle, Florida_

" 'A lonely man is a lonesome thing, a stone, a bone, a stick, a receptacle for Gilbey's gin, a stooped figure sitting at the edge of a hotel bed, heaving copious sighs like the autumn wind.' John Cheever," Gil Grissom said to himself, laughing, as he took another sip of the drink in his hind. Grissom indeed felt like a lonely man, sitting on the edge of a hotel bed in a town whose name he couldn't remember without looking at the phone book in the dresser drawer. He didn't know how he was sober enough to remember that quote. He had tried not to be. He didn't want to remember quotes. He didn't want to remember anything.

Grissom got up from the bed and walked over to the dresser to pour himself another drink. He lifted the glass to the disheveled image in the mirror. "Cheers, old man." Grissom returned to the bed and turned on the TV. He was hoping to catch another rerun of ER on TNT. There was a doctor on there that looked so much like his Sara. "But, alas, she is not my Sara anymore," Grissom said to himself. "I messed everything up."

He couldn't believe how much his life had changed in a year. A year ago, he and Sara had been happy. At least he had thought so at the time. He had been happy. He knew that much. He had found Sara in time. She was alive and safe and back home. To him, that had been all that mattered. He knew now that his happiness had blinded him to what had been right in front of him. Sara wasn't happy. She was just pretending to be happy. Outside her injuries had healed, but inside she was still broken. By the time he saw it, it was too late. She was already gone.

Catherine always said I was bad with people, Grissom thought to himself. If she only knew how bad. Oh, that's right, Grissom remembered, Catherine did know. Everyone did thanks to Greg. He couldn't blame Greg really. He hadn't been the one who had opened the door that night. He hadn't been the one who had let Heather in. He hadn't been the one who had drunk until he could barely remember his own name. He hadn't been the one who had betrayed his wife.

He should have had faith that Sara would come back. He had woken up on New Year's morning, Sara's face smiling at him from the picture on the bedside table, a woman's arm draped over him, and his first thought had been that the last few weeks had all been a bad dream. He had turned over to kiss Sara and found Heather lying next to him instead. As the memories of the previous night came rushing back to him, Grissom had gotten out of bed and run to the adjoining bathroom. He then stood over the toilet and vomited, hoping to purge himself of the taint of what he had done but failing miserably.

Heather had woken up and followed him to the bathroom. "Gil, are you all right?" she had asked. "No, I'm not alright," he had told her. She had tried to comfort him, placing a hand on his back. He had pushed her away and gripped the sink. "You need to get out of here," he had told her. She had started to protest. "You need to get out of here now!" he had yelled, his fingers reddening as he gripped the sink tighter. "Now!" He thought he had scared her, but he didn't care. All he could think about was Sara and what he had just done to her.

As he would find out later from Greg, what he had done was far worse than he had thought. Sara had come home. Sara had seen them. Sara was pregnant. He barely remembered the months that followed. He had spent most nights in his office, staring at the wall, thinking about what went wrong, thinking about what could have been. He had let Catherine and Nick handle the assignments. He knew what everyone thought of him. He could see it in their eyes. What had once been pity had turned to scorn after Greg's outburst. He didn't blame them though. He felt the same way, so he had hid away in his office every night, counting the hours until he could go home.

The days hadn't been much better for Grissom. Everything reminded him of Sara. He would go home and see her curled up on the sofa, asleep with the entomology textbook he had given her for Christmas in her lap; in the kitchen cooking some new tofu creation, wearing that ridiculous "Kiss the Cook" apron she had given him for his birthday and singing Blondie under her breath; in the bedroom, smiling up at him, telling him how much she loved and wanted him. Of course, he knew she wasn't really there. They were just his memories, and that hurt worse than anything.

Jim had offered to find Sara, but he had turned him down. Sara was better off without him. Their baby was better off without him. When the Department of Entomology and Nematology at the University of Florida in Gainesville had called, offering him a teaching position for the summer semester, he had jumped at the chance. He had hoped that the memories wouldn't follow him clear across the country to Florida, but they had. There had been a girl in his class, a curly-haired brunette who liked to wear her hair back in a ponytail, that asked too many questions. Every time he had looked at her, he had seen Sara. Sara at the Forensic Academy Conference. Sara at a crime scene. Sara at the lab. Asking him questions. Remembering everything he said. He had slipped up once and called the girl Sara in class. Everyone had looked at him like he was a senile old man. Maybe they were right, he thought, taking another drink. " 'I am a very foolish old man,' " Grissom said to himself, quoting Shakespeare. " 'Fourscore and upward, not an hour more or less; and to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.' "

The university had offered him another semester, but he had declined. Instead, he had rented a car and driven over to the Gulf Coast, trying to figure out what to do next. He thought about going back to the lab. He thought about finding Sara, but in the end, his own self-loathing had won out. When he got to Carabelle, he had figured it was as good of a place as any to stop, as good of a place as any to disappear. A small beach town during the off-season. No one to bother him. No one to remind him of Sara. He had checked into the old hotel on the beach and had yet to check out.

ER started, and Dr. Maggie Doyle came on the screen. Grissom sighed. " 'I see her close beside me with silent lips, sad and tremulous,' " he whispered and took another sip. "I'm so sorry, Sara. I'm so sorry."


	11. Chapter 11

"You should have taken that scholarship to art school," Sara said to her brother, as she stood with Ava in the doorway of the nursery. After she had returned home with Hank, she and Ritchie had spent the better part of the prior day emptying the townhouse's third bedroom of the things from her old apartment and taking them off to storage. Ritchie was now putting the final touches on a butterfly mural that he had painted on the wall to go with the crib's bedding.

Ritchie shrugged. "I couldn't. I promised that I'd come back for you. The courts weren't going to let a 14-year-old girl leave foster care and go live with her 18-year-old brother in a dorm room at an art school in Rhode Island."

"The courts didn't let me live with you anyway."

"I know. I thought I was doing the right thing by joining the force. I never thought the judge would think differently. I can still remember what the judge said to me. 'Mr. Sidle, as a rookie officer, you will be working long, odd hours under the most dangerous of circumstances. I cannot allow you to subject your sister to such instability. I therefore deny your petition for custody.'"

"At least you tried."

"I should have tried harder. I could have hired a better lawyer or something."

"You could barely afford the one you had. Besides, it wasn't your fault. If it was anyone's fault, it was Mom's."

"That's not what you said back then."

"I was a teenager. You should have taken anything I said with a grain of salt."

"You were miserable in foster care."

"So were you. So are most foster kids. That's why it's called foster care and not the Brady Bunch. Do you ever think about how different our lives would have been if Mom had just taken us and left Dad?"

"I used to all the time. Now not so much. What's the point? It is what it is, and we are who we are. There's no use daydreaming about what might have been. You need to stop thinking about it, too."

"I can't help it, Ritchie. I miss her. Not that woman in prison, but the mother I remember. I look at Ava, and all I can think is she's never going to know her. She's never going to know her grandmother." Sara wiped away a tear. "Great, now I'm crying again. Believe it or not, there used to be a time when I hardly cried at all. Now I can outcry a five-month-old."

Ritchie put his paintbrush in a cup of water and walked over to his sister. "Are you going to be okay with me leaving tomorrow? I don't have any vacation time left, but I can talk to my captain, see if I can take some unpaid leave."

"No, don't do that. You need to go home. Go back to work. Go back to Cammie. Go back to the life you had before your long-lost pregnant sister showed up on your doorstep in the middle of a nervous breakdown."

"Sara, come on. I'm serious."

"So am I, Ritchie. I'm a big girl. I'll be fine. Seriously, I'll be okay."

* * *

_Sara stood over the bed. She could feel the warm wetness on her face, on her chest, on her arms and hands. Although the coppery stench of the liquid overwhelmed Sara, she could not leave the room. She could not stop. Her arm was no longer listening to her brain. It moved on its own, up and down, up and down, sending more of the fetid spray into the air._

_Sara heard a noise behind her and a voice ask, "Mommy?"_

_Sara finally stopped. She looked down at the bed, at the blood-stained sheets, at the vacant eyes that seemed to still stare back at her. "I'm so sorry, Gil," she whispered. Her hands shook as she tightened her grip on the knife and turned towards the door._

_A 10-year-old Ava took one look at her mother and began to scream._

Sara sat up with a start, her heart still racing from the dream. The prostrate form next to her raised his head and looked at her. "It was just a dream, Hank. I'm okay. Go back to sleep," she told the dog. Hank snorted and obligingly laid his head back on the pillow. "Well, at least you mind better than the other Hank," Sara told him and scratched his back.

Sara looked at the alarm clock. It was 2:15 a.m. She then looked at the TV. Another episode of Law & Order was on. If it was one thing she had learned from being on bed rest, it was that Law & Order was always on. Sara couldn't remember what had happened in the last one. She had tried to stay awake so her body wouldn't go into total shock Monday when she started back to work, but there was something about the Law & Order "doink, doink" that put her to sleep faster than the entomology textbook Grissom had given her. Sara reached for the remote, remembering her dream.

"You know, Hank, maybe a nice infomercial would be better," Sara said to the dog, turning the channel. Tony Little was screaming from the screen about his latest exercise equipment. "Well that man has more energy than any one person should ever be allowed. Keep going," she said, turning the channel to VHI. "Flavor Flav," Sara said to the image on the screen. "Mindless entertainment at its best."

Sara put the remote down. Her hands were shaking as hard as they were in her dream. She gripped the covers tightly, trying to get them to stop. She heard the aging rap icon ask, "What time is it?"

"Time to be okay," she answered. "Time to be okay."


	12. Chapter 12

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" Ritchie asked his sister one last time, as they stood outside his SUV.

"For the millionth time, yes, I'm going to be okay. In fact, I'm going to be so okay that I'm going to start charging people a dollar every time they ask me that. I should have Ava's college tuition saved up by the end of the week," Sara answered her brother.

"Well, at least your sarcasm is coming back. I guess that's a good sign. I still don't feel right leaving you alone."

"I not going to be alone. I have Ava," Sara said. Sara heard a howl coming from behind the front door, followed by whimpering and scratching. Sara motioned toward the door. "And Hank."

Ritchie shook his head. "You do know that that dog has some serious issues, don't you?"

"Don't we all. Go home, Ritchie."

"Okay, okay," Ritchie responded. He gave his sister and niece a quick kiss on their foreheads. "We're still on for Thanksgiving, right?"

"Right. No more missed holidays."

"You aren't really going to make vegetarian turkey, are you?"

"It's good, Ritchie. Seriously. You won't even miss the real thing."

Ritchie made a face. "If you say so. Promise me you'll try to get some sleep and eat something. You've lost enough weight."

"I promise. Now go. I promised Cammie you'd be home for dinner."

"Okay, I'm going. I'm going." Richard got in the car. "I love you, sis."

"I love you, too."

Sara watched her brother pull out of the driveway and looked down at her daughter. "I guess it's just you and me, kid."

* * *

Sara was exhausted. She had been cleaning the townhouse for hours. She knew she should have been sleeping like her daughter. She knew she needed to get used to their new schedule, but she couldn't help herself. After Ritchie had left, she had played with Ava and read her a book until she fell asleep. She had then laid down, hoping to do the same, but her mind had other plans. She had started thinking about New Year's Eve, and then her mind had moved on to other imagined indiscretions. Grissom and Heather on the sofa. In the shower. On the dining room table. Up against the kitchen counter.

Laying there, Sara had felt sick and dirty. She had wanted to wipe away any trace of Heather Kessler from her life and from her home, so she had gotten up, grabbed a mop, a rag, and several bottles of cleaner and gone to work. With the exception of her daughter's room--she had cleaned it before moving in the furniture--no surface had been spared from Sara's wrath. She had cleaned the furniture, the floors, the cabinets, the countertops, the fixtures, anything Heather might have touched.

Now hours later, Sara's right arm ached, her palms burned, and her nose was congested, but she still did not feel clean. Maybe Ritchie was right, Sara thought to herself. Maybe I should have gotten a new place.

She had thought at the time that moving would have meant that Heather had won, but now she wasn't so sure. She couldn't get the images of that night out of her head. Maybe a change of scenery was what she needed.

Sara went upstairs and checked on her daughter. Ava was sleeping peacefully. I miss that, Sara thought. I miss sleeping like a baby. Sara couldn't remember the last time she had slept all night, uninterrupted by nightmares and painful memories. She supposed she slept that way before Natalie. So much had happened to her since then, it was hard to be sure.

Sara looked over at the bookcase and at the picture of Grissom she had placed next to her daughter's books. Sara sighed. Who am I kidding, she thought. She knew the real reason she hadn't found a new place. She wanted what was in those books. She wanted the handsome prince to come walking through the front door and give her the fairytale ending. She wanted the happily ever after. She couldn't have that if the prince didn't know where she lived.

"Grow up, Sidle," Sara whispered to herself as she left the nursery. "You should know by now there's no such thing as happily ever after."


	13. Chapter 13

_Knock, knock, knock._

Sara looked up, surprised by the knocking on her window. She had been sitting in her car breathing deeply in an effort to calm her nerves for what felt like an eternity. She knew it was stupid to be this nervous about going inside. She had worked there for over seven years, and she had been in the building twice in the last few days, but this time was different. This time she had to stay. It was one thing in theory to say she was ready to go back to work, but it was another to be sitting in the parking lot of the lab, her first crime scene in nearly a year just a few minutes away.

Sara wasn't just nervous about going in; she was worried. She was worried about Ava. She had never left her daughter before. Correction, Sara thought. She had left Ava with Cammie and Ritchie, but that didn't count. They were family. She had never left Ava with a stranger before. Granted Rachel seemed nice. She had a lot of experience with kids, and she passed the background check that Ritchie had his partner run on her, but that hadn't stopped Sara from installing nanny-cams in every room of the townhouse, including the bathrooms. She had checked and rechecked the cameras at least a dozen times that day to make sure they were working. If it was one thing she had learned from this job, it was that people aren't always what they seemed.

She was also worried about being That Girl again. That Girl who slept with the boss. That Girl who had a nervous breakdown. That Girl who ran away. She knew what came with being That Girl--the stares, the whispers, the snickers. Sara had been That Girl most of her life, and to tell the truth she was getting tired of it. Sara wondered if her coworkers already had a pool going on how long That Girl would last before she broke down again.

Sara rolled down her window. "Hey, Greg."

"Are you going to sit there all night, or do you plan on going in?" Greg asked Sara.

"I'm going in."

"Well, it'd be a lot easier to do that if you got out of the car first."

"Really, Greg? I didn't know that, and here I thought I could just drive in, make my big comeback that way."

"While I would love to see the look on Ecklie's face if you did, I wouldn't suggest it. I wouldn't want you to give him a reason to fire you. I missed you, Sara. I want you to stick around this time."

"Thanks, Greg."

"You're welcome. Now unlock the back door so I can get your bag."

Sara hit the unlock button. He's right, Sara thought. I need to get out of the car. Sara took a deep breath, opened the door, and got out. However, when Greg started walking towards the building with her bag, Sara froze in place. Maybe I'm not ready yet, Sara thought. Maybe I should just go home.

Greg, realizing Sara was no longer with him, stopped and turned around. He took one look at Sara's face and returned to the car. "You've got that Sara look," he told her.

"What's that Sara look?" Sara asked.

"You know, the one you get when you're thinking really hard. It looks kind of like this," Greg said, as he tried unsuccessfully to imitate the look.

Sara frowned. "Please tell me I don't look like that."

"No, not exactly. It looks cute on you." Sara smiled at him. "Ah, the Sara smile. I've missed that, too."

Sara turned serious again. "I don't know if I can go in, Greg."

"Why? What are you worried about? That people are going to talk about you? People talk about me all the time. I don't let it bother me."

"You didn't lose it in front of everyone."

"Uh, I thought Nick told you about my fight with Grissom."

"Okay, so maybe you did lose it, but at least you didn't cry."

"Well, just between you and me, I kind of did. Just a little. A split lip really hurts. Besides no one is going to say anything. Okay, Hodges might, but who cares what Hodges has to say? Okay, Wendy might care, but the rest of us just ignore him."

"Wendy? Are they…?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yeah. Back in June, I ran out of latex gloves and went into the supply closet to get some more. Let's just say I saw more of Wendy and Hodges than I ever cared to, or Hodges anyway. I wouldn't mind seeing that much of Wendy again, but Hodges--it's a miracle I didn't go blind."

"Ooh."

"My thoughts exactly. You want to know something else I found out that day? Hodges has a tattoo of the General Lee on his butt."

"The person?"

"No, the car, so now every time Hodges insults me, I just think of the Dukes of Hazzard and start laughing. It makes Hodges nuts."

"You do realize I'm never going to get that image out of my head."

"That was my goal. Now you're going to go in there, and if Hodges says anything more than, 'Hi, Sara, welcome back,' you're going to picture that tattoo, and you're going to let whatever he says roll right off your back. Now come on. Catherine's liable to give us a decomp if we're late."

"Okay, okay, I'm coming," Sara said and followed Greg inside.

* * *

Sara was surprised that the trip to the locker room had been pretty uneventful. Everyone had been nice and polite welcoming her back. When Hodges came into the hallway to say "hello," Greg had leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Just two good ol' boys. Never meanin' no harm. Beats all you ever saw, been in trouble with the law since the day they were born." Sara managed to say "hello" back before cracking up laughing. "Freak," she heard Hodges say under his breath. "You should know, Uncle Jesse," Greg retorted. Sara laughed harder. It had been a long time since she had laughed like that.

Sara started towards her old locker and stopped. "I guess I should go see Catherine about getting a new locker," she told Greg.

"Actually, you shouldn't. Your old locker is still yours. We officially retired it when you left. Ecklie hired a couple of new guys on swing. One of them tried to take it. Let's just say he walks with a limp now."

"Thanks, I think."

"Hey, that's what I'm here for."

Sara turned the lock on the locker. Thank God I remember the combination, Sara thought. I'd be too embarrassed to ask. Sara opened the door and found the locker stuffed with balloons and streamers, a "Welcome Back" sign taped to the inside of the door.

"You didn't think we'd let you come back without balloons, did you?" she heard a voice ask behind her.

Sara turned around. "Warrick," she said.

"Welcome back," Warrick said as he hugged her. "We wanted to get you beer, but Catherine's got this stupid rule about us drinking on shift. I told her beer would make crime scenes a lot more fun, but she wouldn't listen. Don't tell her I said this, but she's become a bit of a bore since she took over for Grissom. It probably has something to do with staring at Grissom's fetal pig all day."

"I heard that," Catherine said, walking into the locker room. "And I didn't say they couldn't get you beer. I said they should wait until shift's over to open it. There's a difference." Catherine gave Sara a hug. "I'm glad you're back."

"Thanks," Sara responded. "Glad to be back."

"What, Greg and I don't get a hug?" Nick asked as he entered the room and stood next to Greg. "Sure I let your dog eat my couch, and Greg got beat up for you."

"I did not get beat up," Greg protested.

"If you say so, Greggo," Nick said. "The point is, we sacrificed for you. All Warrick and Cath did was blow up a few balloons."

"Boo, hoo, Poor Nicky got his ratty old sofa chewed up by a dog. You're just jealous she likes us better than you.," Warrick teased Nick.

Sara walked over to Greg and Nick and hugged them both at the same time. "Happy now?" she asked Nick.

"It'll do," Nick answered with a smile.

"We got you something else," Greg told Sara, as he pulled a gift-wrapped box from his own locker.

Sara sat on the bench and opened the box. A new vest lay inside with "Grissom" printed across the name tag.

"You kind of tore up your last one when you left. We didn't know if we should put Sidle or Grissom on this one. You never really said if you took his name or kept yours. Of course, you never even said you were married until New Year's, but that's besides the point. Anyway, Catherine had to finally ask Ecklie what name you put on your paperwork, and then we ran your driver's license just to be safe. After all, can you really trust Ecklie to be right about anything? I guess we're going to have to start calling Grissom Gil or Gilbert or something when he comes back, if he comes back. Otherwise, it's going to be really weird having two Grissoms around here." Nick elbowed Greg in the side. "And I'm talking entirely too much about the G-word. Sorry, Sara," Greg apologized to his friend.

Sara fingered the name on the vest. "It's okay, Greg. It is my name, and thanks. That was really nice of all of you."

"And we're taking you to breakfast when shift's over, so don't make other plans," Nick told Sara.

"Frank's?" Sara asked.

"Where else?" Nick responded.

"It is tradition," Warrick added.

"Not to be a bore and break up this party, but I've got assignments if anyone wants them," Catherine told the group, waiving the paperwork in her hand.

"Aw, Mom, do we have to?" Greg asked.

"I am not that old," Catherine responded, "and yes, we have to, unless you want to be the one to explain to Ecklie why we're all sitting around here while all the crime scenes are out there."

"Well, when you put it that way," Greg said.

"Okay, Warrick, Sara, you're with me. We've got two DB's out in a house in Summerlin. Nick, Greg, you've got a DB at the Palms."

"I'm driving," Nick said to Greg.

"Of course you are. You're always driving. Sara's always driving. Warrick's always driving. When do I get to drive?" Greg asked Nick.

"How about when you grow up to be big boy and stop whining?" Nick answered.

"Funny, funny. I don't whine."

"And I don't say 'y'all' a lot. Come on."

"Hey, Sara, are you coming?" Warrick asked her.

"Yeah, I'll be right there. I've just got to finish putting my stuff up," Sara told him.

"We'll meet you at the car," Catherine said. "Come on, Warrick. I'm driving."

"Of course you are."

Sara leaned her head against the locker after Catherine and Warrick left the locker room. Why does it have to be dead bodies, Sara thought to herself. On my first night back, why does it have to be dead bodies? It couldn't just be a nice, clean robbery or something. No, it has to be death. Sara stuck her bag in the locker and grabbed her kit. It was just where she had left it. Sara opened the kit and checked its contents. It looked like the guys had replenished the supplies. They were taking good care of her, better care than she deserved. Sara shut the locker, put on her vest, and picked up the kit. Please don't let me lose it when I get there, she thought. Please don't let them see me cry.


	14. Chapter 14

Sara was quiet on the way to the crime scene. On the outside she appeared to be staring out the window, but on the inside she was trying to psych herself up for what was to come. They're just bodies, Sara told herself. They're not people; they're just bodies. Cadavers. Think of them as cadavers. They're not you. They're not anyone you know. They're just objects to be processed. Just like blood. Just like fingerprints. No big deal. You've done it before. You can do it again. Just go in. Look at them. Do what you've got to do and get out. In a few hours, you'll be able to go home, kiss your daughter, play with your dog. You're not going to lose it. You are not going to lose it.

Sara felt her chest tighten as they turned down the street. She could see the patrol cars and police tape cordoning off the scene ahead. Breathe, Sara, she told herself. Just breathe. In and out. In and out. There you go. Not so tight anymore. Bodies, not people. Bodies, not people, she continued to chat inside her head. You can do this.

Sara got out of the SUV and walked to the front door with Catherine and Warrick, where Brass was waiting for them.

"Sara?" Brass asked, surprised to see her there.

"Hey, Jim," Sara responded.

"You're back."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me."

Brass opened his arms. "Well, come here. I don't care if it is a crime scene." Brass and Sara hugged. "I missed you, kiddo."

"I missed you , too."

"You look good. I like the hair."

"Thanks."

Catherine cleared her throat. "Right, right. Back to the crime scene. The husband, Philip Wilson, says he came home from a business trip about an hour ago. Found his wife, Karen, dead in the living room and his daughter, Isabel, also deceased, in the front bedroom. He called 911, and here we are. Watch your step," Brass advised, opening the door. "It's a mess in there."

"You weren't kidding," Catherine said, surveying the room. The living room was in complete disarray. Chairs, tables, and lamps had been knocked over. Pictures had been smashed. Blood splatter was everywhere. "She put up quite a fight."

"Yes, she did," Dave said from the floor, where he was crouched by the body. "She has multiple…" Dave stopped mid-sentence when he looked up and saw Sara. "Sara, you're…you're…"

"Back. Yeah, good to see you, too, Dave," Sara said, smiling down at him. Dave blushed.

"Looks like you can still make him stutter," Warrick told Sara. Dave glared at Warrick. "Calm down, Dave. Finish your sentence."

"The victim has multiple defensive wounds on her arms, fingers, and hands. Stab wounds to the chest, stomach, and back. The skin's starting to marble, and there's some fly larvae presence, so I'd say time of death was approximately four days ago."

"And the child?" Catherine asked.

"No signs of physical trauma. From the state of rigor mortis, I'd estimate her time of death to be about 12 hours ago. Doc would have to tell you for sure, but it looks she died from dehydration."

"Dehydration? How old is the child?" Catherine asked.

"The father said seven months. She's still in her crib," Brass answered.

"So someone killed the mother and then the left the baby in her crib to die?" Sara asked.

"Looks like."

Sara took a deep breath. Tonight was not going to be a good night.

* * *

Sara walked slowly into the child's bedroom. The room was painted a sunny yellow. Teddy dears danced on the wallpaper border, hung from the mobile, and sat on the bookshelf and rocking chair. This room was supposed to be a happy place, Sara thought. Death shouldn't be in here.

Sara looked down into the crib. At first glance, the child appeared to be sleeping, but Sara knew better. The child's eyes were sunken. Her stomach was bloated, and her skin was wrinkled. The child was gone, and she didn't go easily. If Dave was right, and it looked to Sara like he was, the little girl's death had been slow and painful. At first, she would have been thirsty. Her tongue and mouth would have felt dry. Her head would have hurt, and she would have felt dizzy. Since she was a baby, she would not have been able to tell anyone how she felt. She wouldn't have been able to get up and get a glass of water or take a Tylenol for the pain. Instead, she would have cried for her mother, but those cries would have been tearless and fallen on deaf ears. As her dehydration became more severe, the little girl would have experienced severe muscle contractions in hers arms, legs, stomach, and back. She would have had convulsions. Her pulse and breathing would have quickened. Eventually, the child would have lost consciousness. Her pulse would have then gotten weaker and weaker until the girl's heart finally gave out.

Sara shook her head. This is so wrong, she thought. This should never happen to a child. Sara felt the tears welling up as she continued to look at Isabel. She's not much bigger than Ava. In her mind, the face of the little girl morphed into her daughter's face, and Sara squeezed her eyes shut.

"Sara, are you okay?" she heard Warrick ask.

Sara opened her eyes. "I'm fine," she said, looking at Warrick, willing the tears not to fall.

"Are you sure? If you want me to do this room, I can. You can go help Catherine in the living room."

Yes, please take it, Sara thought. She knew she couldn't tell him that though. If she didn't do this now, she was never going to. Bodies, not people. Bodies, not people. "I've got it," Sara said, holding up the camera. "I appreciate the offer though."

"Okay, but if you change your mind."

"I know where to find you."

Warrick patted her on the back and left the bedroom. Sara started to take pictures of the crime scene. "Bodies, not people," she whispered under her breath. "Bodies, not people."

* * *

Hours later, they had collected every bit of evidence they could from the house in Summerlin and returned to the lab. Sara sat at a table in the break room, swirling a spoon around in her yogurt. She knew she should eat, but she wasn't hungry. She couldn't get the baby out of her mind. She kept hearing Isabel's unanswered screams, kept seeing her lying there, convulsing in pain with no one to help her. She barely registered the conversation around her.

"So apparently guests had been complaining about the stench for weeks, but no one could find anything in the room. Finally, some tourist thought to lift the mattress off the base of the bed, and there it was," Nick said, recounting his and Greg's case to Warrick and Sara.

"The body?" Warrick asked.

"Yep, decomp at it's finest. The Palms won't be renting that room out anytime soon," Nick answered.

"Man, I always thought that was an urban legend--the tourist who comes to Vegas and finds a dead body under the bed," Warrick stated.

"Me, too, but there it was," said Nick.

"Well, the two of you still smell a little like death. You might want to hit the showers again, use a little more lemon this time," Warrick suggested.

Sara gave up on the yogurt and put her spoon down.

"See, you made Sara lose her appetite," Warrick told Nick and Greg.

"Are you okay, Sara?" Greg asked. "If the smell's that bad, I'll go shower right now, just for you. I'll even let you watch."

"No, it's not you. I'm just not hungry," Sara answered.

"Bad case?" Nick asked.

"Dead baby," Sara responded.

"Oh," Nick said, as he saw the pained expression on Sara's face. Suddenly, he wasn't that hungry either.

"Look, I'm going to go outside and get some air for a few minutes," Sara told her friends. "If anyone needs me…"

"We'll come get you," Warrick told her.

After Sara left the break room, Greg asked Nick and Warrick, "She's not okay, is she?"

Warrick shook his head. "Definitely not."

* * *

Sara sat on the steps, trying to compose herself. Tonight wasn't going like she wanted. She wanted to be strong, kick-ass Sara. She didn't want to be wimpy, crying Sara, but a dead baby--she hadn't counted on a dead baby, not on her first night back. Now she understood how Catherine had felt when they worked that case at the amusement park, the one where she thought the child molester had pulled the child from the ride. When you have a child, and the victim is a child, it's different, Sara thought. It's personal.

Sara pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and called home. Her new nanny picked up.

"Hey, Rachel, this is Sara. Is Ava awake?"

"Yes. I was just about to feed her."

"Could you put her on for me? I know she can't talk back, but right now I'd be happy just to know she can hear my voice."

"Hold on just a minute." Sara could hear footsteps.. "Here she is, Mrs. Grissom."

"Hi, pumpkin," Sara told her daughter. "It's Mommy." Sara heard Ava gurgle in response. "I missed you tonight. Mommy loves you very, very much, and I just wanted you to know that, okay? I'll see you in a little bit. Rachel?"

"Yes, Mrs. Grissom?"

"Thanks. I needed that."

"Not a problem."

Sara hung up the phone and wiped the tears from her cheeks. I've got to find a way to stop crying before I go back in, Sara thought. If I don't, someone's going to be winning that office pool.


	15. Chapter 15

Sara was still trying to compose herself when she heard someone sit next to her on the steps and felt an arm go around her. Sara turned to look and saw Nick. Sara gave him a half-smile as Nick pulled her closer. Sara laid her head on his shoulder.

"I thought you could use a friend," Nick said.

"What I could use is a cigarette," Sara responded.

"I thought you quit those things."

"I did. That doesn't mean I don't want one from time to time:"

"Sara, I feel weird asking you this, but in light of what just happened…. Greg said when you came back, you were pregnant, but you haven't said anything about a baby. Did something happen to the baby?"

"No, not like you think. I mean, she was early, but she's fine now."

"So you're a mother."

"I know. Shocker, right? I'm horrible with kids."

"I'm sure you're not horrible with her." Sara shrugged in response. "Do you have a picture?"

Sara pulled out her cell phone and pulled a picture up on the screen. She handed the phone to Nick. "Ava Gillian with a G. I had a moment of weakness, wanted to name her after Grissom, but I thought Ava Gilberta sounded a little weird, and Ava Bertha just wasn't happening, so Gil, Gill."

"I get it. She's beautiful. She's like a mini-Sara."

"She has Grissom's eyes."

"But she's got your hair, your nose, your lips."

"Yeah, well, she's going to be hating that hair in a few years."

"Why? I like curly hair."

"That's because you're from Texas. They like big hair there. Try coming from California where everyone has shiny, straight, blonde hair like Barbie."

"I take it you got teased about your hair."

"I got teased about a lot of things, Nick"

"So if Ava's okay, what was going on back there?"

"Have you ever seen someone you know at a crime scene?"

"What, like recognize the victim?"

"No, like see your mom, your sister, or yourself when you see the victim."

"I don't think so."

"I saw her tonight, Nick. I looked at that little girl in that crib, and I saw my daughter lying there, not the victim."

"That's understandable, Sara."

"Is it? And it's not just that. I don't know how to turn it off anymore. I don't know how to go to a crime scene, look at the victim, and not feel anything."

"Whoever said you had to?" Sara turned to look at Nick and raised her eyebrows. "Never mind. Grissom. Sara, he's given that same speech to me more times than I can count over the years. Do you think I followed his advice?"

"He did recommend you for the promotion."

"But it wasn't because I'm so great at being cold and detached. If you ask me, it's when you can go to a crime scene, look at a victim, and not feel anything that you've got a problem, not when you do."

"I just don't know how to deal with it anymore. I used to, at least I thought I did, but then…"

"You became the victim."

"Yeah, I became the victim. Not for the first time."

"Because of your mom?"

Sara nodded her head. "I saw her do it, Nick. I saw her murder my dad."

"I'm sorry, Sara."

"I dream about it sometimes. Before Ava, it was more remembering than a dream, but now…I become her, Nick. In the dream, I'm my mother, and Grissom's my father, and…"

"Ava's you."

"Yeah."

"Sara, you're not your mother. You're not going to just snap one day and kill Grissom."

"How do you know? I never thought my mom would. She was a good person, Nick, before…She used to make us cookies, sing us to sleep at night, help us build forts in the living room with the dining room chairs. And my dad…He was actually a really good dad when he was sober. It wasn't until he drank that he became a monster."

"But that doesn't mean you're like them."

"But it could. How do you know that I didn't inherit the worst parts of them? A little batterer gene here, a little murderer gene there."

"Because I know you, Sara. You're not that person you've built up in your mind."

"I wish I could be that sure."

"Well, then I guess that's what you've got me for and Warrick and Greg and Catherine. We're all here for you, Sara. You don't have to deal with this alone."

Sara looked at her watch. "I guess we should probably go back in. Warrick's probably waiting on me to go see Doc about the autopsies."

"Maybe you should just let Warrick go, considering."

"No, I need to do this. There's no point in putting it off. There's just going to be another autopsy after this one and another one after that and another one after that. This is Vegas after all."

"The city where murderers never sleep."

"Unfortunately not."

Nick got up and gave Sara his hand to help her up. "Let's go in then."


	16. Chapter 16

Sara was finally home.

The meeting with Doc Robbins had gone about the way she had expected. Like Nick, Warrick had tried to talk her out of going in the morgue, but she had insisted. Once inside, she hadn't been able to take her eyes off the two bodies laying on the autopsy tables. Sara had stared at the slashes marring the mother's skin, counting them over and over again in her head. So many stab wounds, she had thought. Too many, like Dad. She had then turned her attention to the baby and at the large Y that had been cut into her chest. "It's almost bigger than she is," she had herself say. She thought Doc and Warrick had stopped talking and looked at her when she said it. She couldn't be sure. She didn't remember much of anything that they had said. She just remembered the bodies. She would have to ask Warrick later about Doc's findings.

Sara had spent the rest of shift sitting at a table in the lab, staring into space, the box of evidence in front of her untouched and unprocessed. She knew she needed to do something with it, but she couldn't bring herself to touch it, so she had just sat and stared. Tomorrow, she had told herself, I'll do it tomorrow. When it was finally time to go home, she had gone into the locker room to get her bag and jacket and found the guys waiting for her. Frank's. She had forgotten about Frank's. She knew they were expecting her to go, but she didn't think she could handle it--another hour of pretending to be okay, another hour of just existing. She had asked for a rain check. She had thought that they look disappointed, but now she wondered if it was more relief than disappointment. It was one less hour they had to pretend that they were happy she was back, one less hour they had to pretend to be her friends, one less hour they had to be around her.

When she got home, Sara had scooped up Ava, put her in the baby sling, and taken Hank for a walk. Usually, she used the jogging stroller, but not today. Today she wanted her daughter right next to her. She wanted to feel Ava's breath on her skin, to smell her baby shampoo, to look into her eyes, to know that she was alive. After the walk, she had only put Ava down long enough to shower and change. Now that her daughter was back in her arms, Sara didn't plan on putting her down again until she was at least 30. Sure, it would put a crimp in her daughter's social life, but she'd just have to deal with it.

Sara heard a knock at the door. "Looks like Mrs. O'Donnell locked herself out again," Sara told Ava as she walked to the door. "We're going to have to get that woman a hide-a-key for Christmas, aren't we?" Not that a hide-a-key would stop her, Sara thought. She was pretty sure the woman locked herself out on purpose so she could come over and gossip. The woman acted like they lived on Wisteria Lane.

Sara opened the door and found Nick, Greg, Warrick, and Catherine standing on the front steps and holding bags of groceries. "You're not Mrs. O'Donnell," she said to them.

"Who's Mrs. O'Donnell?" Nick asked.

"No one. Just this Susan Meyers wannabe that lives next door. What are you doing here?"

"Well, we figured if you can't bring the girl to the breakfast, bring the breakfast to the girl," Greg answered, motioning with the grocery bags. "We have milk, eggs, cheese, orange juice, biscuits, waffles, syrup, veggie bacon, and regular bacon, all for you and us and just a frying pan away."

"That's really nice of you," Sara told them.

"I wouldn't say that just yet," Warrick said. "You haven't tasted Greg's cooking."

"I'll have you know, I aced home ec in high school," Greg responded. "I've also been told I make a very mean omelet."

"By whom--your mother?" Warrick asked.

"No, by other women."

"So your grandmother, your cousin, and your Aunt Bess."

"Don't worry, Sara," Catherine said. "You've got me as backup. If it looks like they're going to burn down your kitchen, I'll step in. We drew straws to see who gets to cook and who gets to spend some quality time with this cutie." Catherine touched Ava's hand and smiled. Ava smiled back. "Guess which I got?"

"Yeah, we're pretty sure she fixed it," Nick told Sara. "We just haven't figured out how yet."

"And I'm pretty sure the three of you are sore losers," Catherine said to Nick.

"Hey, whatever. I'm fine in the kitchen so long as I don't get drafted for diaper duty. No offense, Sara."

"None taken," Sara responded. "I'm still not that fond of diaper duty myself."

"We also brought movies," Greg added. He pulled a movie out of the bag. "First, we've got Three Men and a Baby for the obvious reasons, three men," Greg said, motioning to the three men, "and a baby," motioning to Ava. "Next, for your viewing enjoyment, we have National Lampoon's Vegas Vacation. You can hate the rising crime rate in Vegas, but you can't possibly hate Cousin Eddie. Finally, if you're feeling the need for a good revenge movie, we've got, drum roll please, Heathers, where a hot brunette takes down not one but three women named Heather. I thought it might be, shall we say, rather cathartic for you. Especially the part where Heather Chandler drinks the Drano, cries 'Cornuts!,' and falls through the glass coffee table. Take out Heather Chandler. Insert Lady Heather, and…"

"I get it, Greg. Come in."

* * *

Sara and Catherine sat on the sofa with Ava, while the guys went to work in the kitchen. Hank took one look at Sara and Catherine and one look at the kitchen and took off.

"Was it something I said?" Catherine asked Sara, nodding in Hank's direction.

"The dog's a canine garbage disposer," Sara told Catherine. "He's not going to pass up the chance that a crumb of food might fall on the floor."

"May I?" Catherine asked, holding her arms out towards Ava.

"Sure," Sara said and handed Catherine her daughter.

"Hi, sweetie. Hi. What's your name?" Catherine asked the little girl.

"Ava Gillian," Sara answered for Ava.

"That's a very pretty name for a very pretty girl. Yes it is. How old is she?"

"She'll be five months on Friday."

"Five months?" Catherine asked, doing the math in her head. "You were that far along when you left? Greg was right. You do have good genes."

"No. I was only two months when I left. She was early."

"Oh, I'm sorry. That must have been hard on you alone."

"I wasn't alone. I had my brother Ritchie, his girlfriend Cameron, the Indy girls."

"The Indy girls?"

"Cindy and Mindy Matthews. They were Cammie's friends. They're all part-time actors, part-time models, part-time bartenders. The last people on earth I thought I'd ever be friends with, but when you spend two months on bed rest and another two staring at your kid through the glass of a neonatal unit, you're not that picky. Anyway, I think they started calling themselves that after the Olly girls, but if you ask them, the Olly girls stole the idea from them."

"I'm sorry. Who are the Olly girls?"

"From Sunset Tans," Sara answered. Catherine shook her head, still perplexed. "It's this reality show about a tanning salon in L.A. Never mind." Sara looked embarrassed. "I watched a lot of TV when I was on bed rest. A lot of TV. And let's just say that Cammie and the Indy girls weren't exactly into forensic journals, so I also got to read a lot of celebrity and fashion magazines. People, OK, Cosmo, Vogue. I probably know more about Britney Spear's life now than she does."

"From what Lindsey tells me, that wouldn't take much. Vogue, huh? Explains the new look."

"Yeah, I guess I thought if I had better hair, better makeup, better clothes, Grissom would take one look at me and pick me, choose me, love me."

"Isn't that a quote from…?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, you really did watch a lot of TV. You don't really think Gil slept with Heather because he didn't like your hair or clothes?"

Sara shrugged and looked down at the floor. "If you saw what I saw…"

"I tried to talk to him about it after Greg's outburst. He said it was a one-time mistake."

"And you believed him?"

"Well, yeah."

"Come on, Catherine. You were the one going on about the two of them and the chaps when we were investigating that case with her last year. "

"Sara, I would have never said any of that if I had known about you and Gil."

"It wouldn't have made it any less true. Everyone knows he spent the night there during that case. He didn't even try to hide it from me. I must have been a real idiot to believe him when he said nothing happened."

"Maybe nothing did."

"Or maybe it never stopped. Maybe he was cheating on Heather with me, instead of the other way around. I wasn't even gone two months, Catherine. It didn't take him very long to move on to her."

"Where did you go, by the way, if you don't mind me asking? Obviously, you saw your brother…Ritchie was it?"

"Yeah, but not at first. First, I went back to San Francisco, visited my father's grave, and spent some time at the beach, trying to work up the nerve to go see my mother."

"Where's your mother?"

"Chowchilla. Central California Women's Facility."

"Oh. I would have thought she would have been out by now."

"Well, the parole board likes to hear that you're sorry for your crimes. My mother's not sorry at all."

"I'm sorry."

"Me, too. I don't know. I guess I thought if I went there and saw her, she'd make everything okay and I'd feel whole again. Isn't that what mothers are supposed to do? Kiss their children's boo-boos, make them all better?"

"I take it she didn't do that."

"No. Not even close. I don't know who that woman was, but she wasn't my mother, not the mother I remembered anyway. After that, I drove down to L.A. to see my brother. We kind of fell out of touch when I moved out east for college. It was stupid, really, completely my fault. I was mad at him for not getting me out of foster care. It wasn't his fault. He tried; the courts just wouldn't let him. It didn't stop me from blaming him though. The night in the desert, I kept thinking about how stupid that was and about how much time we wasted. Then Hannah and Marlon West came along and made me feel that much worse."

"Are things better now with him?"

"Yeah, a lot better. It's kind of nice, having family again. I mean, I always kind of thought of all of you as my family, and then Natalie came along, and I had to switch shifts, and I hardly ever saw any of you after that. It was like I lost my family all over again."

"You didn't lose us, Sara. We were just…on different time schedules."

"I know, but it still felt like it. I felt…alone. I still do sometimes."

Catherine reached over and squeezed Sara's hand. "You're not alone , Sara. If you ever need anything--help with Ava, someone to talk to, anything--you can call me. I mean it."

"Thanks." Sara wrinkled her nose. "I think she needs a diaper change." Sara reached for her daughter.

"No, let me," Catherine said. "I'm feeling nostalgic."

* * *

Greg was right, Sara thought as she lifted the fork to her mouth. He does make a mean omelet. She looked at the TV screen. Randy Quaid was emptying a box of rattlesnakes into the yard to babysit his kids so he could go hang out with Chevy Chase. It looked like Greg was also right about Vegas. She could hate the crime rate, but she couldn't hate Cousin Eddie.

Sara thought about what Catherine had said, that Heather had been a one-time mistake. She wanted to believe Catherine was right, too, but she couldn't, not with Grissom gone. Sara looked around the room at her friends. At least Catherine may be right about one thing, Sara thought. Maybe I'm not alone.


	17. Chapter 17

Grissom had had one of the dreams again.

_This time he and Sara had been walking hand in hand down Las Vegas Boulevard. He had gotten them tickets to the Cirque du Soleil show at the MGM. They had finished dinner early, and Sara had wanted to take a walk before the show. He had looked over at Sara. She had given him one of those smiles, the kind that made him forget what he was doing and why, the kind that made the world around him disappear. He had stopped in place and dropped her hand. "What's wrong?" Sara had asked him. "You're glowing," he had told her. "That's because I'm happy," she had said. She had then touched her stomach. "The baby's kicking. Give me your hand."_

_She had reached for his hand at the same time another hand had come out of the darkness and reached for her. The hand had held a knife and pressed it against her throat. Sara's eyes had gone wide, imploring him to help her. Her lips had trembled, and a solitary tear had slid down her right cheek. He had looked from Sara's face to the face of the man holding the knife. "I know you, don't I?" Grissom had asked the man. "Where do I know you from?" Then he had remembered--the mental institution._

"_I should have done this a long time ago," the man had said, as he pulled the knife across Sara's throat. Grissom had felt the warm spray of blood hit his face. He had screamed, "No!" as the man ran and Sara fell to the ground. He had gotten on his hands and knees beside her. He had tried to hold the wound together with his hands, but the blood had continued to stream through his fingers. He had looked down at Sara's face and saw that her lips were moving. She's trying to tell me something, he had thought. He had lowered his ear to her lips. _

"_Help me," she had whispered._

_He had raised his head and looked at her face again. Her eyes had shut. Her lips had stopped moving. His eyes had then moved to her chest. It, too, had stopped moving. Grissom had removed his hands from her throat. They had shook as he looked at the blood on them. "I can't," he had said. "I'm too late."_

Grissom had woken from the dream in a panic and reached for Sara. Then he had remembered where he was. He was alone. Sara was gone. He had gotten up, taken the vodka bottle off the dresser, and brought it back to bed with him. He had drunk directly from the bottle as he turned the radio on. The lyrics of the song failed to penetrate the alcohol-induced haze until he heard her name. Sara.

He had turned the radio up. He had wanted to hear the words. "Sara, Sara, storms are brewin' in your eyes. Sara, Sara, no time is a good time for goodbyes. 'Cos Sara loved me like no one has ever loved me before. And Sara hurt me, no one could ever hurt me more. And Sara, Sara, nobody loved me anymore. I'll never find another girl like you. We're fire and ice. The dream won't come true."

He had turned the radio off. The only thing he had managed to say in response to the song was less than poetic: "Ain't that the truth." He had then drunk his vodka in silence until he had finally passed out.

Now, twelve hours later, Grissom was packing his bag. It was time to leave. He didn't know where he was going. He just knew he had to go somewhere, anywhere but here and home. He turned off the light and started out the door. At the last minute, he stopped and turned around. He walked over to the bedside table and picked up the framed picture of Sara. He sighed and slipped it into his bag. He couldn't leave her, even if he wanted to. As he walked out of the room, Grissom found himself humming the chorus.

"Sara, Sara, no time is a good time for goodbyes."


	18. Chapter 18

Sara shook her head at the reflection staring back at her in the mirror of the ladies' room. The dark circles under her eyes were getting worse. Concealer had stopped phasing them weeks ago. Sara believed she was starting to look like a walking, talking raccoon. After her friends had left, she had tried to get some sleep but had only managed a couple of hours. As exhausted as her body was, her mind had refused to shut down. Now she was paying for it. She could barely keep her eyes open, even after four cups of Greg's special brew. At least tonight's going better than last night, she thought. No dead bodies yet.

Catherine walked in the bathroom, took one look at Sara, and stopped. "Wow, you look tired."

"I feel tired. You ever have one of those days where you can't find a comfortable spot on the bed or the pillow, no matter what you do?"

"I have a teenage daughter at home. It's par for the course," Catherine said. "Give it a few years, and you'll be missing the days when you only got a couple hours of sleep."

"Great."

"Have you heard anything back yet on the prints we found at the scene?"

"Mandy ran them through AFIS. One set came back to the husband. He was fingerprinted when he applied to take the Nevada bar exam. Another came back to the wife. Apparently, our Mrs. Wilson was once a dancer at Scores and had to get fingerprinted for her work identification card. Another set came back to another Scores dancer, a Tiffani Peterson. The fourth set came back unidentified. Wendy wasn't able to get a hit in CODIS from the hair and skin scrapings we got off of Karen Wilson, but she was able to identify the DNA as female."

"So I guess that rules out the husband. Has anyone talked to this Tiffani yet?"

"Not yet. I called Brass a few minutes ago and gave him a heads up. He's on his way over. Do you want to go with us to talk to her?"

"No, you two go ahead. I have paperwork to catch up on. The joys of being supervisor."

"Have you seen Warrick? I doubt he's going to want to pass up the chance to go to a strip club."

"I sent him and Nick out to that robbery at the Little White Wedding Chapel."

"Who robs a wedding chapel?"

"Someone who really doesn't like weddings?"

"Yeah, I guess. You know, Warrick's going to think you did that on purpose to keep him from going to Scores."

"Who says I didn't?" Catherine asked and headed into the stall.

Sara stood there for a minute, puzzled by Catherine's response. Exactly what have I missed these past few months, she wondered. First, Wendy and Hodges, and now those two. Sara shook her head and walked out of the bathroom. She would have to ask around later. Right now, she had to see a guy about a stripper.

* * *

"Tiffani Peterson?" Brass asked the blonde in the Catholic school girl uniform.

"Yes," the blonde answered. She took a step towards Brass, twirled a piece of hair from one of her pigtail around her finger, and licked her lips. "Is there something I can do for you?"

Brass blushed and took a step back. Sara laughed. Brass flipped open his badge and showed it to Tiffani. "Captain Jim Brass, LVPD. This is Sara Sidle, I mean Grissom, from the Las Vegas Crime Lab. We're here to talk to you about Karen Wilson."

Tiffani's demeanor turned serious. "Sorry about that," she said. "I'm on duty."

"So am I," Brass said.

"Too bad. We could have had fun."

"Yeah, I bet," Brass said. He pointed at a table. "Why don't we take a seat."

"So what do you want to know?" Tiffani asked them.

"For starters, where were you Thursday night?" Brass asked.

"Here, where I always am."

"Can anyone verify that?"

"Howard Stern was in town. I gave him a lap dance. Why don't you ask him? Heck, ask anybody. I'm very popular."

"I'm sure you are."

"Why are you asking me anyway? You can't possible think that I killed Karen and Isabel?"

"We found your fingerprints at Karen's house," Sara told Tiffani.

"Well, duh. Of course, my fingerprints were in her house. We've been best friends since we were two," Tiffani Peterson told Brass and Sara.

"We also found female DNA under Karen's nails," Sara told her.

"Well it wasn't mine. Just look at me," Tiffani said, standing up and twirling around. "Does it look like anyone scratched me?"

"Not from what I can see. That doesn't mean much, though," Sara said.

"You got a 20? I'll let you see the rest."

"Thanks, but I'll pass. You're really not my type. How about a swab for free?'' Sara asked, holding up her swab kit.

Tiffani rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Swab away," she said and opened her mouth. Sara looked at Brass. She knew they were thinking the same thing. That was way too easy. Sara leaned over and swabbed the inside of Tiffani's mouth.

"If you ask me, you need to be looking at that ambulance-chasing, two-timing, stuck up, sorry excuse for a human being Karen called a husband if you want to know who killed them," Tiffani said.

"I thought Philip Wilson was a corporate lawyer," Brass said.

"He is. I misspoke. You need to look at that mergers and acquisitions chasing, two-timing, stuck up, sorry excuse for a human being Karen called a husband then. Happy now?"

"Thrilled," Brass said.

"Why do you think he had something to do with Karen's death?" Sara asked.

"The guy was a jerk. He still is. He used to come in here in his fancy suits and his fancy shoes, throwing his money around, acting like he was the next Sam Braun. I met Sam Braun once. Trust me, Philip Wilson is no Sam Braun. Anyway, he fixated on KiKi--that was her stage name--flirted with her, bought her presents, gave her the kind of tips we all dream about. Eventually KiKi gave in and went out with him."

"So buying a girl presents and tipping well made him a jerk?" Brass asked.

"No, what made him a jerk is what he did to her afterwards, when she told him she was pregnant. He freaked, ordered her to have an abortion, told her there was no way he was going to let some knocked-up stripper ruin his chances at making partner. She refused, told him to go to hell and that she didn't need his help. They didn't see each other for months, and then one day he shows up on her doorstep with a proposal. He'll marry her if she agrees to lie about who she is. Goodbye, Kiki, the stripper from Las Vegas. Hello, Karen, the former kindergarten teacher from Nebraska."

"And she went along with that?" Sara asked.

"Yeah. KiKi had some self-esteem issues. She was what you call a late-bloomer. She got teased a lot growing up, about her hair, her teeth, her glasses, you name it. Even after she got those things fixed, I think she still saw that girl when she looked in the mirror. Lawyer boy figured that out and exploited it for all it was worth. He married her, set her up in that house in Summerlin, convinced her that the three of them were going to live happily ever after, and the entire time he's cheating on her with his secretary."

"She knew?"

"Yeah, the woman actually called her up one day and told her. Karen confronted him. Philip denied it at first, and then he claimed it was just a one-time mistake."

"Did she believe him?"

"She believed anything that man had to say."

"But you weren't so sure?"

"No. He was always working late, going on so-called business trips, coming home smelling like perfume. Karen didn't even wear perfume; she was allergic to it."

"Do you think it was the same woman?"

"Could be. Could be anybody knowing him." Tiffani looked at the clock on the wall. "Look, is that all? I've got to get back to work. Time's money."

"Sure, you've been very helpful," Brass told her.

Tiffani started to walk towards the stage, then stopped, and turned around. "Hey, if you catch who did this, come back by. The first lap dance will be free for the both of you."

"Gee, thanks," Brass answered .

Sara shook her head. "So now what?" she asked Brass.

"_Cherchez la femme._ Look for the woman."

* * *

"It's 7 a.m. Do you think he'll actually be there?" Sara asked Brass on the way to Philip Wilson's law firm.

"Oh, he'll be there. He's on the partnership track, remember? The firm's got over a hundred lawyers. He's probably been working 18 hours a day, 6 days a week, since he got hired."

"And people say I'm a workaholic. Alexander, Sullivan & Sams," Sara said, reading the name Brass had written down on the notepad. "Who wants to make partner at a law firm with initials like that?"

"A lawyer who is one."

"Aren't they all?"

"True."

Sara sat in silence for a few minutes and then turned to look at Brass. "Look, Jim, I want to apologize for before."

"For before?" Brass asked. "For what? Turning down Tiffani's lap dance?"

Sara laughed. "No. For before I left. I went off on you about getting that warrant. I was out of line. I was in a really bad place, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's already forgotten. How are you doing with…everything?"

"As well as can be expected, I guess."

"I'm sorry, Sara. I should have put that woman away years ago. If she didn't have half the judges in this county as clients."

"It's not your fault. It's his and mine. I ran away. He ran to her. It is what it is."

"Sara, you were kidnapped by a serial killer and left to die. Gil should have seen that everything wasn't okay. We all should have."

"And I should have told someone that I wasn't. Can't change it now."

"If you want, I can find Gil, Sara. I'll drag him home by his ears if I have to."

"No. I appreciate the offer. Really, I do, but if he wanted to be here, he would. He made his choice. Now I'm making mine."

"Well, if you change your mind."

"I know. Thanks."

* * *

"Ah, here we are," Brass said, pointing to the parking garage ahead. "I guess with what they pay their associates, Alexander, Sullivan & Sams doesn't have any money left over for valet parking."

As Brass pulled into the parking garage, Sara suddenly felt cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. She hadn't been in a parking garage since Natalie took her from one. The further into the darkness Brass drove, the colder Sara got. Her eyes scanning the darkness for hidden dangers, Sara tried to take a deep breath but couldn't; her chest hurt too much.

Brass parked the car, and somehow Sara managed to get out. She walked to the trunk of the car but could make it no further. Her heart was racing, and her body began to shake. She heard Brass say, "Sara." She turned to look, but she did not see him standing in the shadows; she saw Natalie. Sara started to hyperventilate. As Brass ran towards her, Sara sank to her knees. I can't breathe, she thought. I'm going to die here. I am going to die.

* * *

Sara saw Nick's face through the drug-induced haze. The lorazepam the ER doctor had given her was taking its toll.

"You were the only one she'd let me call," she heard Brass say.

"I've been where she is."

"Yeah, I guess you have."

"Okay, Sara, let's get you inside." Sara felt herself being pulled out of the car and an arm go around her. She heard a rattling sound behind her.

"They sent her home with a few more, just in case."

"I've got them." The rattling sound came closer.

"Take care of her. Make sure she gets some rest."

"I will." Sara heard the car door shut and an engine start. She felt herself being led up the stairs and inside. Another door shut behind her. Sara looked around.

"Ava," she said.

"She's upstairs taking a nap."

Sara tried to pull away. "I need to take care of her."

"No, you need to take care of yourself. I've got her."

Sara felt herself being led up more stairs and into another room.

"Sit."

Sara did as she was told. Sara felt her shoes being removed and her legs being lifted onto the bed.

"Lie down."

Again Sara did as she was told. She felt tears falling down her cheeks. "I'm a horrible mother," she said.

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

Sara closed her eyes and let the darkness take her over.


	19. Chapter 19

He had to stop drinking. This Grissom knew for sure.

After checking out of the hotel in Carabelle, he had gotten into his rental car and headed west, following Highways 319 and 98 along the coast, looking for some sign that it was time to stop. Two hours later, when he reached Panama City Beach, he saw the sign--spots in his peripheral vision. He knew from past experience what those spots meant: his hangover was turning into a full-fledge migraine. Grissom rubbed his eyes and squinted against the sun. " 'The sun in this month begets a headache like an angel slapping you in the face,' " he told himself. "This one is going to be bad."

Grissom rolled down the car's window, hoping that the fresh salt air would ward off the nausea and dizziness that always followed the spots. He heard music coming from his right. The lyrics spoke to him. "Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light. My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim. I had to stop for the night." Grisssom turned his head to look. A pink monstrosity of a hotel was coming up on his right. The sign in the parking lot proclaimed that it was "The Hotel California." Why not, Grissom had thought. Sara was from California. There had to be some irony in that.

Grissom pulled into the parking lot and got out of the car. The song was louder now. Grissom looked up to see a speaker mounted on the corner of the hotel pointed in the direction of the parking lot. They must have the Eagles playing on a continuous loop, he thought. Apparently, Vegas hadn't corned the market on touristy gimmicks.

He went into the office. The clerk was sitting in a chair, his feet propped up on the desk, watching Jerry Springer on the office's tiny TV and eating a sandwich. A fly followed Grissom into the office and landed on the sandwich. The clerk turned away from Springer and looked at Grissom. Grissom pointed at the fly. "_Musca domestica_," he said to the clerk.

"Huh?" the clerk asked.

"The common house fly. Did you know that whenever a fly lands on food, it vomits on the food to prepare it for ingestion?" Grissom asked the clerk.

The clerk looked down at his sandwich with disgust, picked it up, and dropped it in the wastebasket. "No, I didn't," he told Grissom, "but thanks for sharing. Can I help you?"

"I need a room for the night."

"Of course you do. Smoking or non?"

"Non."

"First floor or second?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Cash or credit?"

"Credit," Grissom answered, handing the card to the clerk. The clerk swiped the card and handed it back to Grissom. He then handed Grissom a key.

"You're in Room 108. The vending machines and ice maker will be down the hall from you to the right. The pool closes at midnight. Check out's at 11 a.m. Any questions?"

"You don't really have pink champagne on ice, do you?"

"No, sir. That's just a song. If you want the name of a good bar or liquor store in the area, I can recommend a few."

"No, thanks. I think I'll manage."

Grissom had gone to his room. He didn't bother to turn on the lights or open the drapes. He preferred the darkness when his migraines hit. Grissom popped a migraine pill, laid down on the bed, and waited for the medicine to take effect. When sleep finally came, he was relieved of the pain from the migraine, but not from the pain that came from his dreams of Sara.

_This time they were leaving a bar. They had been out celebrating Sara's pregnancy with the team and were now on their way home. Grissom stumbled on the sidewalk and grabbed the wall of the bar for support. "I guess I shouldn't have let them buy me all those shots," he told Sara, slurring his words._

_Sara laughed. "You know, I don't think I've ever seen you drunk before," she told him. _

"_And you probably never will again, my dear," he told her._

"_Then I guess I better take advantage of you while I can," she said._

"_Is that a promise?" he asked._

"_Maybe," she said and smiled coyly. "Now give me your keys. I'm driving."_

_Grissom did as he was told and handed Sara the keys. Sara started walking towards the car, as Nick, Warrick, Greg, and Catherine came out of the bar. They patted Grissom on the back and congratulated him one last time. They all stopped and looked at Sara when she reached the car. She turned to them, smiled, and mouthed "I love you" to Grissom before getting in the car. "I love you, too," he said._

_Seconds later, fire lit up the sky, and Grissom was thrown to the ground. He pulled himself up and saw the smoldering remains of the car that had held his pregnant wife. He screamed "No!" and tried to run to her, but arms held him back. He fell back to the ground, devastated. Once again, he had been too late to save Sara._

When Grissom woke up, he knew one thing for sure: he had to stop drinking. Drinking is what got me into this mess, he thought, and it doesn't look like it's going to get me out of it anytime soon. He also knew he had to clear his head. He picked up the hotel phone and called the front desk.

"Are there any roller coasters around here?"


	20. Chapter 20

_Wild Adventures Theme Park_

_Valdosta, Georgia_

Grissom had learned from the desk clerk that he was a couple of years too late to ride Panama City's old wooden roller coaster, the Starliner. The Miracle Strip Amusement Park had been closed down in 2004, the rides cleared out and sold to other amusement parks to make room for condo developers. The clerk had told him that the nearest roller coasters he knew of were in Valdosta, Georgia, at a place called Wild Adventures Theme Park, about three hours away.

He had checked out of the Hotel California early Wednesday morning, stopped at a gas station on the strip for maps, and headed for Georgia. Now he was standing inside the entrance to the park, looking at the park brochure. The leaflet promised nine roller coasters throughout the park, including a children's coaster called the Ant Farm Express, located in the part of the park known as Bugsville.

Grissom had to pass through Bugsville to get to the rest of the park. The brochure said it had been designed so children could see the world through the eyes of a bug. Grissom stopped and looked around. Giant pencils, spools of thread, and band-aids decorated the play area to make the tiny visitor feel even tinier. The rides were all bug-themed. Bee Bop Cars spun children around like the classic tea cup ride, while rides with names like Dragonfliers Balloon Rides, the Flyswatter, and the Venus Flytrap lifted them into the air. There was even a Bugsville Theater featuring daily bug-themed shows.

Grissom could see bringing a kid here. He could see bringing his kid here, the child of an entomologist playing in an entomology-themed playground. For a moment, Grissom saw himself sitting on the Ant Farm Express, a little girl with Sara's curly hair sitting next to him and squealing with glee as the coaster car charged down the hill, both of them waving at Sara videotaping them from the ground below. Then Grissom closed his eyes, and the moment passed. When he opened his eyes again, he was back on the ground and alone.

As Grissom walked towards the first adult coaster on his list, the Boomerang, he was reminded of a scene from the Steve Martin movie, Parenthood. Steve Martin's character, coincidently enough named Gil, was complaining to his grandmother about how complicated his life had become. The grandmother started telling him about a roller coaster she had once ridden. "You know," she said, "it was just so interesting to me that a ride could make me so frightened, so scared, so sick, so excited, and so thrilled all together. Some didn't like it. They went on the merry-go-round. That just goes around. Nothing. I like the roller coaster. You get more out of it."

Eight roller coasters later, Grissom knew what he had to do. He had to get off the merry-go-round that had become his life for the last 10 months. He had to get back on another type of roller coaster, the type that led him back to Sara.

It was time he found his wife.


	21. Chapter 21

Well that went well, Jim Brass thought, as he rubbed his temples. He had gone back to the station after leaving Sara with Nick. He had been sitting at his desk for the last hour, thinking about what had happened in the parking garage. When Sara first went down, he had thought that she was having a heart attack. Her face had gone pale, and she was breathing rapidly and clutching her chest. "Chest hurts. Can't breathe," she had managed to tell him. He had immediately radioed dispatch for an ambulance, but it had felt like hours before the ambulance arrived. As he sat there with her, holding her hand as she struggled to breathe and assuring her that everything was going to be okay, he kept thinking that this shouldn't be happening to her. She was too young. She was in shape. She ate right. She had just had a baby. She had been through enough in the last two years. If anybody should have been having a heart attack, it should have been him, not Sara.

"Luckily, it was just a panic attack," the ER doctor had told him. He had said it with a smirk. Brass had not liked that smirk. He had pulled George Clooney aside and had a nice little chat with him about smirks, Sara, and the Miniature Killer. The smirk had disappeared real quick. Brass had liked that.

Brass opened his desk drawer, pulled out a bottle of aspirin, and downed two pills. He looked over at the framed picture of a teenage Ellie on his desk. The picture had been taken before everything had started going downhill between them, before Ellie had turned to drugs, prostitution, and a string of bad relationships to numb her pain. Brass sighed and put the bottle of aspirin back in the drawer. He had failed Ellie. He hadn't been around enough when she was a child, and he hadn't been there when she needed him as an adult. He had hoped she would take him up on his offer of rehab, but she had never called him back. He didn't even know where she was at the moment. His contacts with the LAPD hadn't seen or heard from "Jersey" in months. He had been trying to find her, but so far he wasn't having any luck. Every time the phone rang, he feared it was the morgue asking him to come identify his daughter's body.

Brass's thoughts turned back to Sara. He didn't want to fail her, too. In the eight years he had known Sara, Brass had come to think of her as a daughter. When Natalie had taken Sara last year, he had gotten that same lump in his throat that he got every time Ellie called him in trouble. He would have done anything to find Sara, just as he would have done anything to help Ellie, but afterwards, he had stepped aside. They all had. They had let Gil be her sole source of support, and he knew now how well that had turned out.

He wasn't stepping aside again. Brass got up, went outside, and got in his car. He then placed a call.

"Hey, Nick. Is Sara still asleep? Good. There's something I need you to do for me."

* * *

Nick placed the baby monitor next to Sara's bed, backed slowly out of the room, and then quietly shut the door. He placed the other monitor on the office's desk. Ava looked quizzically at Nick from the baby swing he had put in the corner of the office.

"Don't look at me like that," Nick told Ava. "I am not too proud to say that I'm afraid of what your mother will to do to me if she finds me snooping. I've seen your mother mad before, and it's not a pretty sight. That," Nick said, pointing to the monitor, "will hopefully give me enough time to cover my tracks." Nick turned on the computer. "So if Mommy asks, Uncle Nick got bored and brought you up here so he could play solitaire on the computer, okay?" Ava cooed. "Okay then. Now let's see if we can find some clue as to where Daddy went."

* * *

Brass tried to open the door to Grissom's office, but it wouldn't budge. "Great, Catherine locked it," he muttered under his breath. Brass pulled out his wallet, got out a credit card, and looked around. No one was watching. Brass slid the credit card down the door jam until he felt the lock give. "Open sesame," he said, as he pushed opened the door. Brass looked around one last time and went into the office. Brass's cell phone rang as he sat down at the desk. He looked at the caller id and answered it.

"Tell me you have something for me, Nick."

"I couldn't find anything recent. It looks like the post office is holding Grissom's mail. All credit card statements are dated prior to May. I can give you the numbers. Maybe you can run them, find something I couldn't."

"Hold on. Let me find something to write with." Brass opened the desk drawer and got out a pen and pad of paper. "Okay, give them to me."

Nick recited the numbers to Brass. "I also found his social security number on his paycheck stubs. I figured you'd probably need that, too." Nick gave him Grissom's social security number. "Have you found anything on your end?"

"Not yet. I just got here." Brass looked up to see a figure standing in the doorway. "I've got to go. I'll let you know what I find," he told Nick and hung up the phone. "Conrad," he said to the figure.

"Jim, is there something I can help you with?"

"Just looking for a pen," Brass said, holding up the pen he had been using.

"Did they run out of those at the precinct?"

"Yep, fresh out."

"So you decided to drive over here and borrow one instead of, say, going to the store and buying one?"

"What can I say? I'm cheap."

"Well, when you get through looking for that pen, make sure you lock up and turn out the lights. You might be cheap, but electricity's not."

"Will do."

"And Jim."

"Yeah."

"If you happen to find where Gil went while you're looking for that pen, will you let me know? I have a few choice things I'd like to say to him."

"You and me both."

Once Ecklie left, Brass started going through the desk's drawers. He had to use his pocket knife to jimmy open the locked bottom drawer but was rewarded for his efforts. He held up the letter and read it. "The University of Florida," Brass said. "Bingo."


	22. Chapter 22

Nick checked on Sara one last time and found her still asleep. He had decided to leave the baby monitor in her room and take the other one downstairs with him and Ava. Nick left the door open and got a pillow and blanket from the hallway linen closet. He then went downstairs.

Ava was asleep in the playpen. She had managed to kick the baby blanket off her in the few minutes he had been upstairs. Nick chuckled softly as he pulled the blanket back up over Ava. Someone's definitely taking after her mother, Nick thought, as he looked down at the girl. "Your mommy's a fighter, too," Nick whispered to Ava. "I just wish she'd remember it."

Nick turned to the sofa. Hank was stretched out on his back, his four legs sticking up in the air. "Alright, Hank. Time to move," Nick told the dog. Hank opened one eye and appeared to glare at Nick before shutting it. "I mean it. Move." Hank opened both eyes this time and looked at Nick. "Do you want another time out?" Nick asked. Hank continued to look at Nick without budging. "Come on. Move it." Hank growled at Nick but gave up the fight, as he got off the sofa and sat on his dog bed in the corner. "Yeah, like I'm afraid of you. I've seen you run from a teacup chihuahua."

Nick sat on the sofa and turned up the volume on the baby monitor. He wanted to be able to hear Sara if she woke up and needed him. He then stretched out on the spot vacated by the dog. "Sleep tight, Sara," Nick said in the direction of the monitor. From the looks of the circles under her eyes, Nick didn't think Sara had slept tight in awhile.

* * *

_Interstate 75 _

_Henry County, Georgia_

After leaving the amusement park, Grissom had gotten back on the interstate and driven north to Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport in Atlanta. The last time he had spoken to Sara, she had said that she was in San Francisco. He had no idea if she was still there now, but it was as good as a place as any to start looking for her. He had hoped to catch the last flight of the day to San Francisco, but that was proving difficult. He was stuck in traffic, 30 minutes outside of Atlanta. His car hadn't moved a foot in over an hour, and for the life of him he couldn't figure out why. He had yet to see the first wreck, and no ambulance, patrol car, or fire truck had driven by.

Grissom looked over at next lane. The two men in the pickup truck next to him had their windows down. Grissom rolled his window down, too.

"Excuse me. Do either of you happen to know what's going on?" he asked the men. "Is there a wreck or something?"

"Naw, I wish," the man closest to him said. "Might get home in time to see my youngins then. Naw, the radio said we've got ourselves another jumper."

"Another jumper?"

"Yeah. A couple of times a year some idiot loses his cotton-pickin' mind, climbs out onto one of the overpasses, and says he's fixin' to jump. The cops have to shut the whole interstate down while they talk him off the ledge. It took them five hours one time to open the road back up. Ain't nothing you can do it about it, really, other than sit back, listen to ol' Alan, wave at the cameras, and hope Monica Kaufman doesn't show a clip of you on the 11 o'clock news taking a leak in the woods."

"Thanks." Grissom looked at his watch and grimaced.

"No problem, man Hey, look, it could be worse. It could be race weekend to boot. Traffic would be backed up all the way to Macon then."

"Good to know," Grissom said and rolled the window back up. Even in September, the humidity in Georgia was unbearable, especially for someone who was used to dry desert air. Grissom leaned over and turned up the air conditioner another notch. He then leaned back in his seat and took another look at the traffic. It still hadn't moved. Grissom sighed.

"I wonder if whoever said 'patience, persistence, and perspiration make an unbeatable combination for success' ever got stuck in Atlanta traffic?" Grissom asked himself.

Grissom played with the radio and let his thoughts drift off to Sara.

* * *

_Sara was standing in the elevator, several shopping bags in one hand, the handle to her daughter's stroller in the other, when she heard the song "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" coming from her purse. Puzzled, Sara looked down and fished her phone out of the purse. As the song continued to play, Ava laughed from her stroller and pointed at the phone._

_"You like that, huh?" Sara asked her daughter. "It looks like Uncle Greg has been playing with Mommy's phone again."_

_Sara looked at the caller id, smiled, and answered the phone. "Hello, Gilbert."_

_"Hi, honey. Are you and the munchkin still at the mall?'_

_"We're just leaving."_

_"You didn't buy out the toy store, did you?"_

_"No. I thought about it, but then I figured why bother; she's just going to find the boxes we put them in more fascinating than the toys anyway."_

_"How did it go with Santa?"_

_"She screamed bloody murder the minute I put her in Santa's lap. I'm telling you, our girl's got a set of lungs on her."_

_"She gets that from you."_

_"Funny."_

_"So you didn't get a picture?"_

_"No, we got a picture. I had to sit in Santa's lap, but we got a picture." The elevator doors opened, and Sara pushed the stroller out into the parking garage._

_"I'm sure Santa enjoyed that."_

_"He did actually. He gave me his number."_

_"Should I be jealous?"_

_"Nah, the red suit's never done it for me. Now a black CSI vest and baseball cap on the other hand…" _

_"Should I bring those home then?"_

_"Only if you want me to sit on your lap and tell you what I want for Christmas."_

_"In that case, I'll be home in a few minutes."_

_"Ecklie's letting you go?"_

_"What Conrad doesn't know…"_

_"Is a lot. The munchkin and I will see you in a little bit then. Love you."_

_"I love you, too. Drive safe."_

_"Always," Sara said and hung up the phone. She hit the button on her key chain to unlock the doors to her car. She put the bags in the backseat and then turned to her daughter._

_"Are you ready to go home and see Daddy?" Sara asked Ava, as she lifted her daughter from the stroller._

_"Dada," Ava said. She pulled on Sara's necklace and tried to put it in her mouth as Sara strapped her into the car seat._

_"That's right. Dada. You're getting so good at that. Now let's give Mommy her necklace back," Sara said, pulling the necklace out of Ava's hands. She handed Ava her teething ring. _

_"Mama," Ava said before putting the teething ring in her mouth._

_Sara smiled at her daughter, leaned down, and kissed her on the forehead. "I love you, pumpkin," she told Ava._

_Sara shut the door, folded up the stroller, and walked around to the trunk. She hit the button on the remote to open the trunk and was about to place the stroller in the trunk when she heard a noise behind her. Sara turned around. A figure emerged from the shadows. Sara recognized the figure: Natalie._

_"Hello, Sara," Natalie said and raised her hand._

_Before Sara could react, Natalie fired the taser gun. The taser barbs penetrated Sara's shirt and entered her chest. Pain shot through Sara's body. Unable to control her muscles, Sara fell to the ground and watched helplessly as Natalie loomed over her. Natalie turned her over and placed plastic ties around her wrists and ankles. She then pulled Sara off the ground and shoved her into the trunk._

_Tears welled up in Sara's eyes, as she watched Natalie reach for the trunk lid. "Don't," she managed enough muscle control to say. Natalie titled her head to the side, looked at Sara, and slammed the trunk shut. Sara was immediately surrounded by a suffocating darkness. A familiar pain took hold of Sara's chest as she struggled to breathe, her breaths becoming shorter and faster. Panic consumed her when she heard the car's engine start. I can't breathe, Sara thought. I can't breathe. I can't breathe._

Sara sat up in bed. Her breathing mirrored that in her dream, short and fast. She grasped the sheets, which were damp from her sweat, and tried to slow down her breathing to no avail. She saw the baby monitor on the nightstand. "Nick," she said into the monitor between ragged breaths. "Help. Nick." She grasped the sheets tighter. She didn't know if Nick heard her, and she didn't know what to do. All she knew was that it was happening again.

Sara closed her eyes. When she opened them, Nick was sitting in front of her.

"Sara," Nick said. "Sara, look at me." Sara looked at him. "You've got to breathe, okay?"

"Can't."

"Yes, you can. Look, breathe in slowly through your nose like this," Nick said, demonstrating, "and then out, slowly through your mouth." Sara shook her head. "Do you want me to get your pills?"

Sara shook her head again. "No…more….drugs," she said.

'Then you have to breathe. Come on. In…out…in…out." Sara tried to breathe along with Nick. "See, you can do it. In…out…in…out. That's good. In…out…"

A few minutes later, Sara's breathing had returned to its normal rate.

"I'm going to get you a wet rag for your face, okay?"

Sara nodded. Nick returned a few minutes later with a washcloth and held it to her forehead. "Is that better?"

Sara reached for the rag and nodded. "Thanks," she said quietly. Sara found she couldn't meet Nick's eyes. "Well, that was embarrassing."

"You have nothing to be embarrassed about."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one losing your mind."

"You're not losing your mind, Sara."

"Really? Because it sure feels that way."

"I know, Sara. I've been there, remember?"

"Of course, I remember, Nick, but I also remember you were back at work a week later, your old, smiling, happy self."

"That's what I wanted you to believe. Everyone wanted me to be okay, so that's what I let everyone believe, but I wasn't, Sara. I wasn't even close to okay."

"I'm sorry. I never knew."

"Because I didn't want you to. I became really good at pretending. Trust me. I've had quite a few moments where I thought I was losing my mind, too. I had a panic attack the first night after my parents went back to Texas. I was lying there in the dark, trying to go to sleep, and I could have sworn I heard footsteps in the hallway. I had my gun on the dresser, but instead of getting up and getting it and seeing who was there, I just laid there, too afraid to move. I felt like I was five again and scared of a monster in my closet. The longer I laid there, the more sick to my stomach I became. My heart started racing. I broke out in a cold sweat, and I started to hyperventilate, just like you. When I was finally able to stop, I got up, got my gun, and turned on every light in the house. I tried to sleep like that, with all the lights on, for the next three nights, but I couldn't. It's not as easy as you might think. I eventually broke down and bought a night light, Sara. A night light. At my age. I slept with that night light on for months.

And do you remember that case we had where those cult members committed suicide out in the desert? Grissom wanted me to help him process that bunker, that dark, underground bunker. I almost had another one right then and there in front of him and Catherine. Then there was that time we were investigating that fire at the trailer park, and you left to pick up some sandwiches. A bug landed on my arm, and I freaked, Sara. I freaked over a stupid bug. I've had my moments, Sara. Luckily, I just didn't have an audience every time they happened."

"You seem fine now. I know you said you still have nightmares, but otherwise you seem okay."

"Only because I started seeing a counselor. It helps to talk about what happened, Sara, and about what you're going through now. It really does."

"I'm supposed to see mine tomorrow morning after shift."

"That's good. If you want, you can talk to me now. I promise anything you say won't go beyond these walls. What happens in Sara's room, stays in Sara's room."

Sara managed a half-smile at Nick's twist on the Las Vegas motto. "I don't know. You're going to think I'm nuts. "

"Sara, I'm a grown man with a night light. I'm not going to think you're nuts."

"I saw her, Nick. I saw Natalie in that parking garage today, and I know what you're going to tell me. Natalie's safely locked away. She can't hurt me anymore. Blah, blah, blah. I know. I've heard it a hundred times from my brother, but it doesn't change the fact that I saw her, or at least I thought I did. You know, I've been avoiding parking garages like the plague since that night. When I was in California, if I had to go somewhere that had a garage and didn't offer valet, I just didn't go or I kept on driving. This morning was the first time I've even been back in one. I guess it triggered a flashback or something, and I just freaked."

"Did you just have another one?"

"Sort of. Before Ava was born, my nightmares were strictly that--flashbacks, memories, whatever--but after Ava, they changed. She's always with me in the nightmares when Natalie attacks. This time I had taken Ava to the mall to get her picture taken with Santa. For some reason, Ecklie had called Grissom into work, so he wasn't with us, and I was talking to him on the phone in the elevator, just like I did that night. I get out of the elevator. I put Ava in the car, and then I go to put the stroller in the trunk when I hear a noise behind me. I turn around. Natalie says my name and then tasers me, just like before. She ties me up, puts me in the trunk, and shuts the lid. In the dream, I couldn't breathe once she put me in the trunk. I started having a panic attack, and when I woke up I was still having it.

I've had other ones like that. There's this one where I'm back under the car in the desert, and I hear a baby cry and realize it's my baby, but I can't move. My arms are pinned and I'm drugged up like before, so all I can do is lay there and cry. At the end of it, Natalie always leans down and tells me that Ava's going to be her special girl."

"Do you ever get to the part where you get out of the trunk and out from under the car?"

"No. I've always woken up first."

"Do you think there's a reason for that?"

"I don't know. Maybe some part of me really thinks that Natalie's going to pull a Michael Myers, escape from the mental hospital, and come back here to finish her miniature, only this time she's going to take my daughter along for the ride. Or maybe it's my subconscious's way of dealing with all the fears I had of losing her when I was pregnant and she was in the hospital. Or maybe I just have abandonment issues. I don't know. Maybe I should just skip the P.E.A.P. counselor tomorrow and go straight to Dr. Phil."

"Well, I would say forget Dr. Phil and try Oprah instead, but once she finds out that you got knocked up by your boss, that the boss has this weird thing for bugs, and that he cheated on you with a Vegas dominatrix, she's probably just going to send you down the street to Jerry Springer."

"Hey, thanks a lot."

"Oh, come on. You and Lady Heather having a cat fight on stage, ripping each other's clothes off, while Grissom just sits there, reciting Shakespeare to Jerry? I'd paid good money to see that."

"I bet you would," Sara said, laughing.

"Can't you see it? Warrick in the audience, taking bets as to who'd win the catfight. My money would be on you, of course. Greg standing by with his camera ready because you know he'd never pass up a chance to get a picture of you without your shirt on. Catherine advising the strippers waiting off stage on proper pole technique. Wendy slapping Hodges upside the head every time he asks Greg to take an extra picture for him. Grissom asking Brass to break up the fight, and Brass telling him, 'Do I look like some bald-headed guy named Steve to you?'"

"And what would you be doing during all of this?"

"I'd be sitting on the front row cheering you on." Nick motioned with his arm. "Jerry. Jerry. Jerry." Sara laughed some more. "That's nice, Sara."

"What is?"

"You laughing."

"I know. I haven't been doing much of that lately."

"Well, that's something we're going to have to change. For starters, by me going downstairs and making you something to eat. My cooking will definitely make you laugh." Nick got off the bed and headed for the door.

"Wow, I can't wait," Sara said sarcastically.

"And Sara?" Nick asked, turning around in the doorway.

"Yeah?"

"You may want to get a shower first before you come down. You kind of stink."

Sara threw the washcloth at Nick and hit him square in the face. "Hey," Nick said, wincing.

"Now that makes me laugh."


	23. Chapter 23

"Do you think they all know what happened with Brass?" Sara asked Nick, as they sat in his truck outside the lab.

"Who would they hear it from? Not me or Brass."

"I don't know. The paramedics maybe?"

"Sara, this isn't Third Watch. We don't all sit around the station house between calls bonding over grilled cheese and stories about Jimmy doing a bridesmaid on his wedding day."

"Who's Jimmy?"

"No one, which is exactly my point. Besides, after what Hank the Skank did to you, we pretty much all agreed that the paramedics were banned from the premises."

"You did?"

"Yeah."

"Remind me to never confide in Catherine again."

"Hey, she was just protecting one of her own. Even if a paramedic made it past Judy, no one would believe anything he had to say, except for maybe…"

At that moment, Hodges walked in front of the truck and stopped. He peered into the truck and waved.

"Hodges," Nick and Sara said together. They waved back. Hodges continued to stare.

"He's not leaving, is he?" Sara asked Nick.

"It doesn't look like it."

"I guess that means we're going to have to get out and talk to him."

"Probably."

"Another great start to a shift."

Sara was about to get out when Nick stopped her. "Hey, Greg did tell you about the General Lee, right?"

"Yeah. If Natalie didn't scar me for life, that image certainly did."

"Do you think he has Wendy dress up in daisy dukes and cowboy boots when they get home? Sing 'These Boots are Made for Walking' and do a little dance for him?"

Sara looked at Hodges and shuddered. "God, I hope not. You know, we need to lock that girl in a room and do an intervention."

"That's not a bad idea."

Sara looked at Nick and smiled. "Smile when you get out. It suppresses the gag reflex."

"Duly noted."

Sara and Nick got out of the truck smiling. "Hello, Hodges," Sara said.

Nick nodded. "Hodges."

"Sara, Nick," Hodges responded. "Did the two of you drive in together?"

"Yeah, my car wouldn't start. Nick gave me a ride," Sara said.

"Did he, now? Is that why he's wearing the same clothes as yesterday?"

"My washing machine's broken, Hodges," Nick said. "You got a problem with that?"

"No. No problem at all." Hodges looked from Sara to Nick and smirked. "I'll see the two of you inside."

"You do that, Hodges," Nick said.

Once Hodges went inside the lab, Sara turned to Nick. "You do realize that right now he's telling the lab rats that we spent the night together?"

"Well, we kind of did."

"You know what I mean."

"Let him, Sara. No one pays attention to him anyway."

"Wendy obviously does, and Mandy and Archie and everyone else pays attention to Wendy."

"So what?"

"So what? I'm married, Nick."

"Yeah, so was Grissom, and it didn't stop him."

Sara glared at Nick. "That wasn't funny."

"I wasn't trying to be funny. Look, Sara. Would you rather everyone think that you're crazy or a slut?"

"Do I have to choose?"

"No. I guess you could be a crazy slut."

Sara bit her lip to hide the smile that was forming.

"See, you want to laugh, but you can't because you'd have to concede the fight. Now that's the Sara we all know and love. Come on, hussy. If we're late…"

"Catherine's going to give us a decomp. I know. I know. Greg said the same thing the other day. What's up with that, anyway? Did she pass out rule books or something on her first night as supervisor?"

"Actually, yeah. They were pink with purple glitter pen. Catherine's Code of Conduct. She had Lindsey make them in art class. I'll let you borrow mine."

"Seriously?"

"No."

"Thank God. I can't handle purple glitter pen and being the office slut all in one night."

* * *

Warrick, Greg, and Catherine were waiting for Nick and Sara in the locker room when they came in. Catherine crossed her arms and asked, "Is there something the two of you want to tell us?"

Nick and Sara looked at each other.

"Hodges!" Nick yelled.

Sara sat down on the bench. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"Seriously, Greg, for the hundredth time, I am not sleeping with Nick," Sara told Greg on their way to a crime scene. "Nick is not the reason I left Vegas. He is not the reason my husband slept with Bondage Betty. He is not the reason I came back, and he is not my baby's daddy. My car would not start. Nick gave me a ride home. I know he has a thing for Emily Deschanel, so I asked him if he wanted to come in and watch last night's Bones. He said yes. He came in. We ordered pizza. We had a few beers. Obviously, Nick can't hold his liquor because he fell asleep on the sofa. I went to bed…alone. Nick didn't have time to go back home and change before shift. End of story."

"So why are you letting me drive?" Greg asked. "You never let me drive."

"Because I'm tired, Greg."

"I bet."

"Greg, I'm tired because I have a five-month-old at home who doesn't always want to sleep when I want her to. I'm tired because I haven't worked the graveyard shift in nearly a year and my body is having problems adjusting. Oh, and I'm tired because my personal life pretty much sucks at the moment and it's affecting my sleep, but no, I am not tired because I'm forgoing sleep for sex with Nick. Just let it go already."

Greg stared straight ahead and gripped the steering wheel tighter. Sara looked at him. "You're pouting. You're seriously pouting."

"I am not pouting," Greg said through clenched teeth.

"Then what is that? Jealousy? Are you jealous of Nick?"

"I am not jealous," Greg said, again through clenched teeth.

Sara shook her head. "Unreal."

Greg glanced over at Sara. "So if you're not sleeping with Nick, why did he pull me aside after assignments and ask me to look out for you tonight?"

"I don't know. Maybe because he's my friend and he cares about my well-being? Just a shot in the dark."

"Whatever."

"So is this the way it's going to be all night?" Greg said nothing. "Great. Now you're giving me the silent treatment. What are you, 15? You're acting like you just found out your best friend asked the girl you like to the homecoming dance. I'm married, Greg. My dance card's already full." Greg continued to say nothing. "I give up." Sara turned the radio up louder.

Greg reached over and turned it back down. "Okay, so tell me this. Nick left when I did, and you weren't with him. You were still off with Brass somewhere. So tell me how he offered you a ride home when you got back and your car wouldn't start? Did you call him or did he just have ESP and know you were stranded in the parking lot? And why didn't Brass just drive you home? He was already there. And isn't your car fairly new? I thought hybrids were pretty reliable."

"Okay, you have spent way too much time around Ronnie."

"So? They're valid questions."

"Well, maybe I ought to start limiting you to 20 questions per case the way I limited her."

"And maybe you ought to start answering the 20 questions I ask."

"Ugh!" Sara screamed at Greg, as he pulled up to the crime scene. "Okay, Greg, I give up. I officially give the hell up. You want to know what happened? Here it goes. I went with Brass to interview a suspect in a murder case. We had to park in a parking garage. I got out of the car, thought I saw Natalie in the shadows, and had a panic attack. Brass thought I was having a heart attack and called 911. I ended up in the ER. They doped me up on Ativan and sent me home. Nick met us there, and he spent the rest of the day taking care of me, and by taking care of me, I mean making sure I didn't pass out on the way up the stairs, tucking me into bed, talking me down from a second panic attack, and cooking for me. He also took care of my kid and my dog. There was no sex. There wasn't even a thought of sex. I'm tired because I've got some type of Ativan hangover, and if you don't believe me, here's the freakin' bottle of pills they sent me home with," Sara said, pulling the bottle of Ativan out of her case and throwing them at Greg. She opened the passenger door and turned to look at Greg after she got out. "Happy now?"

Greg looked down at the bottle of pills. "Oh, crap," he muttered to himself. He opened the car door and got out. "Sara, wait up," he said, running after her. "I'm sorry."

"You've got that right."

"Sara," Greg said, grabbing her arm.

Sara turned to him and gave him the look of death as she yanked her arm back. "Your 20 questions are up, Greg. I have nothing more to say to you." Sara turned back around and saw Brass walking hurriedly towards her, a worried look on his face. "Hey, Jim. What's up?" she asked him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in turn.

"Uh, this is a crime scene, and you called for a CSI. I thought that was self-explanatory."

"Catherine didn't just call you?"

"No. Was she supposed to?"

"Uh, yeah," Brass said, as he led Sara back to the SUV.

Sara stopped and looked down at the cell phone clipped to her belt. The screen was black. "Great. The battery's dead. Could this night get any better?"

"Actually, it could," Greg told her. "Look," he said and pointed past Brass.

Sara looked where Greg was pointing. A woman was standing next to Sofia.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Sara said.

"I wish I was. Heather Kessler is a witness and possible person of interest in this case," Brass told her.

Sara pushed past Brass and started walking towards Heather.

Brass looked at Greg and said, "Well this should be fun."


	24. Chapter 24

As Sara walked towards Lady Heather, images of the past few months flashed through her mind.

Sara waking up in the helicopter to see Grissom smiling down at her.

Sara being stung by a bee after Grissom proposed.

The two of them trying hard not to laugh as Elvis pronounced them husband and wife.

The stabbing case. Hannah and Marlon. Writing the letter.

Her father's grave. Her mother through the glass partition. Her brother trying to make up for lost time.

Sara finding a naked Heather straddling Grissom in her bed.

Sara feeling the first contractions in her 21st week. The doctor coming into the hospital room to tell her that the placenta was beginning to detach from the uterine wall. The hospital monitoring. The intravenous fluids and corticosteroids. The at-home bed rest when the bleeding stopped. The second set of contractions.

Ava lying in an incubator in the NICU, her features wrinkled, her skin so thin and transparent that Sara could see the veins underneath. Ava on a ventilator while her lungs finished developing. Ava hooked up to machines that measured her heart rate, her blood pressure, and the amount of oxygen in her blood. Ava being fed Sara's breast milk through a tube in her stomach. Sara not being able to touch or hold her.

Sara coming home to an empty house. Ava not seeing her father. Sara having a panic attack. Sara alone.

Sara felt the rage building up inside of her. She could hear Brass and Greg calling her name behind her, asking her to stop and come back to the car, but she ignored them. Her focus was on one person and one person only: Heather. Sara clenched and unclenched her fists as she neared the object of her attention.

When Sara reached Heather and Sofia, she heard Sofia curse under her breath, but she ignored her as well.

"Heather," Sara said to her husband's mistress.

"Sara," Heather responded.

"You remember me?"

"You look a little different, but yeah, I remember you.. Nice highlights."

Sara looked Heather in the eye and smirked. "Nice bangs." Sara drew her arm back and punched Heather in the face. Heather fell to the ground. Sara tried to go after but felt arms pulling her back.

"Let go of me, Greg," Sara said, as she struggled to get loose.

Heather got up from the ground, holding her cheek. She pointed at Sofia and Brass. "Aren't you going to arrest her?" she asked the officers. "She hit me."

"I didn't see her hit you," Sofia told Heather. "Did you see Sara hit Heather, Greg?"

"I didn't see a thing," Greg said. "What about you, Brass?"

"No, I didn't see any hitting either. I did see you trip though, Heather. You know, you should be a little more careful walking in shoes like that," Brass said, nodding at Heather's four-inch heels. "You might just break something."

"Where is he?" Sara asked Heather.

"I don't know, not that I would tell you if I did," Heather responded.

Sara pulled free from Greg and lunged at Heather again. Brass intercepted. "Enough. Let's go Sara. Now," he commanded, steering her away from Heather. Back at the SUV, Sara crossed her arms and glared at Heather. "You need to calm down, Sara."

"I'm trying," Sara said through clenched teeth, her nostrils flaring with anger.

"Well, try a little harder."

"I hate her, Jim."

"I know. She's not my favorite person either."

"So do something about it. Nail her ass to the wall for this."

"I'm going to try my hardest. I promise. Meanwhile, you need to go back to the lab and chill. I'll call you later. I have Philip Wilson coming in for an interview in a couple of hours. You still want in on it, don't you?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Good." Brass saw Nick and Warrick pull up. "Sanders, get her out of here."

"Come on, Sara. Let's go," Greg said.

"Fine. Whatever," she said. Sara got in the passenger side of the vehicle and slammed the door. Warrick and Nick walked up to them and looked quizzically at Greg. Greg shrugged his shoulders at them, got in the car, and left.

"What just happened?" Warrick asked Brass.

"Karma," Brass answered.

* * *

Sara sat in the break room, staring down at the rapidly swelling knuckles on her right hand. She tried to stretch out her fingers, but they hurt too much, so she curled her hand back up instead.

Greg sat down beside Sara and handed her a bag of ice. "I thought you might need this."

"Thanks," Sara said and placed the bag of ice on her knuckles. She winced at the coldness. "That woman has really hard cheekbones."

Greg laughed. "I bet she didn't see that coming. Nice bangs. Ka-pow. Splat," Greg said, imitating Sara's punch and Heather's fall. "The dominatrix gets dominated. That had to feel good, right?"

"Truthfully, yeah, it did." Sara raised her hand. "Not so much now."

"I'm sorry for before, Sara. I should have never listened to Hodges."

"I'm sorry, too. I should have never gone off on you."

"Well, I kind of deserved it."

"Hmm. Kind of."

A shadow fell across the floor in front of them. Greg and Sara looked up.

"Sidle. Grissom. Whatever you're calling yourself these days. In my office. Now!" Ecklie yelled at Sara.

"Uh-oh," Greg whispered to Sara as she got up. "I think this is the part where Grissom would say when it rains, it pours."

"You're not kidding," Sara whispered back.

* * *

"You hit Heather Kessler!" Ecklie exclaimed in his office.

"I didn't hit her. She tripped and fell. Ask anyone. The woman should really consider wearing flats."

"So what happened to your hand?"

"Kickboxing accident. I was working out a little too hard before shift."

"I thought the whole point of kickboxing was to box with your legs, not your hands."

"Not the way I do it."

"Did they teach you that in LA?"

"Actually, yeah, they did." Ecklie looked at Sara disbelievingly. "What, you don't believe me? We can go to my house now. The kickboxing bag's set up in the office, right next to Grissom's cicada collection."

"That won't be necessary. Do you have any idea the kind of position you're putting me in?"

"What position? People trip and fall everyday. Big deal."

"She has powerful friends, Sara."

"So do I. I have you," Sara said, giving Ecklie her best smile. "Did I forget to mention that that tie really brings out your eyes."

"Brownnosing doesn't become you, Sara."

Sara shrugged. "Well, I thought I'd give it a shot. So am I suspended, fired, or what?"

Ecklie placed his head in his hands for a second and then lifted his head back up. He looked at Sara. "None of those. I'll handle it. Just promise me you'll stay away from Heather Kessler."

"I promise." Ecklie raised his eyebrows at Sara. "Seriously, I'll stay away. What, do you want me to do--pinky swear?" Sara asked, lifting her left hand and crooking her pinky finger.

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll take your word for it. Just go back to work, Sara"

"I'm on my way."

Sara left Ecklie's office and found Greg waiting for her in the hallway.

"So what happened in there?" Greg asked.

"Nothing," Sara answered.

"Really?"

"Yeah, but I'm going to have to go buy a kickboxing bag after work, just to be safe."

"A kickboxing bag?"

"Don't ask."


	25. Chapter 25

"Some week, huh?" Warrrick asked Nick. They had just gotten back from the crime scene and were still reveling over the altercation between Sara and Lady Heather.

"Tell me about it. What's next? Space aliens landing on a bus full of tourists? Elvis going on a killing spree? Jimmy Hoffa's remains?"

"I don't know, man. This place is turning into a total soap opera. I half expect Grissom to come walking in the door before it's all over."

"Nothing would surprise me anymore." Nick started walking towards the break room. "I'm going to go check on Sara. You want to come?"

"Nah, I've got to talk to Catherine about something," Warrick said, as he veered towards Catherine's office.

"Speaking of soap operas," Nick said. He gave Warrick a knowing look.

Warrick laughed. "Tell your girlfriend I said, 'Nice right hook.'"

"Funny."

"I'm serious. Did you see the size of that bruise?"

"Then you tell her. I'm not about get beat up by a girl."

"Chicken."

"I don't see you walking in that direction."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Warrick went into Catherine's office and sat in one of the chairs facing her desk.

"Hey, Cath, are we still on for later?"

"Assuming tonight's drama doesn't keep me tied up in paperwork."

"So I guess you heard about Sara and Lady Heather?"

"Who hasn't? You know how fast dirt spreads around here. Did you and Nick get ringside seats?"

"No. Unfortunately, we got there a few minutes too late for the main event. We did get to see the after show--Sara kicking the crap out of a tire."

"I feel for her. I really do."

"Sara or the tire?"

"Sara. God knows I've been there."

"You punched one of Eddie's girlfriends?"

"No, but I wanted to. I even came close a couple of times. Eddie always got in the way of my fist."

"Remind me to never make you mad."

"I'll try. So what did Lady Heather do?"

"From what I heard, she fell flat on her ass."

"No, I mean, why was she at the crime scene?"

"Oh. One of her clients died during a session. Some 70-year-old guy strung up in a latex suit and a ball gag. It was a sad, sad sight. I just hope I go out with more dignity than that."

"I thought Heather sold the business."

"That's what I thought, too, but from what I saw tonight, she's right back in it. It looks like she's taking her act on the road this time."

"Are we going to be able to charge her with anything?"

"I don't know. There weren't any visible signs of trauma, unless you count the bruising from Lady Heather's whip. The guy was old. Unless Doc can tell us differently, he probably just had a heart attack and died. I hate it for Sara, but Brass will be lucky if he can convince the DA to charge her with manslaughter, let alone murder."

"Even if he does, she'll walk. She always does."

"Tell me about it."

Warrick heard a knock on the door behind him and turned around. Ecklie was standing in the doorway.

"Catherine, we need to talk," Ecklie said to Catherine.

"I was just leaving," Warrick told Ecklie. "See you later, Catherine, Ecklie."

Ecklie sat down in the other chair and waited for Warrick to leave.

"So, Conrad, what do you want to talk about?" Catherine asked after Warrick had exited the office.

"What do you think? Sara. What were you thinking sending her to a crime scene where Heather Kessler was being detained as a person of interest?"

"Gee, I don't know, Conrad. Maybe I was thinking it would be really fun to lock those two in a room together and see what happens."

"Catherine."

"Oh, come on, Conrad. Give me some credit. I didn't know Heather was there when I sent Sara to the crime scene. Sofia called with a 419 and requested a couple of CSIs. She didn't say the first thing about Heather's involvement. I don't think she knew to. She's been out of town on vacation for the last week. I don't even think she knew Sara was back until Jim showed up."

"Jim didn't call you?"

"Yes, he called me, and then I tried to call Sara, several times in fact, but it kept going to voice mail. Either she didn't have her phone turned on or the battery was dead."

"So why didn't you call Sanders?"

"I did, but by then they were already at the crime scene."

"You do realize what a mess this is? She assaulted someone in front of a handful of witnesses."

"And from what I understand, not one of those witnesses plans on backing Heather's story up. They're all going to swear she tripped and fell."

"That may not stop her from pressing charges or filing a lawsuit against us."

"She's not going to do that, Conrad. Heather's a lot of things, but dumb isn't one of them. She knows we're looking at her for this case. She's not going to want to bring any more attention on herself than she already has."

"Well, I hope you're right."

"So what do you want me to do? Suspend Sara? Fire her?"

"No, just keep her away from this case. Far, far away."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"Okay, so now I'm confused. A couple of years ago you wanted Gil to fire Sara for no other reason than she yelled at me, but now she actually assaults someone, and you're ready to just look the other way? Who are you, and what did you do with the real Conrad Ecklie? I would have bet good money that you were coming in here to tell me to kick her to the curb."

"You're right, Catherine. Ordinarily, I would jump at the chance to get rid of a troublemaker like Sara. Her file's got more complaints in it than anyone else on your team, but I'm under strict orders from the county attorney not to."

"What does the county attorney have to do with this?"

"Sara's a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"A lawsuit for what?"

"Sexual harassment, for starters."

"And who, pray tell, has Sara harassed?"

"I didn't say she was the one doing the harassing."

"So you think she was being harassed? By whom? Gil?" Ecklie raised his eyebrows in response. "Gil Grissom? The same guy who sits in this office all day long playing with bugs and talking to a dead pig in jar? The same guy who thinks completing a crossword puzzle is fun way to spend a Friday night? You think he sexually harassed the very woman he ended up marrying?"

"It's not what I think, Catherine. It's what a jury thinks. Sara gets the right attorney, and she could cost Clark County millions."

"I'm sorry, but in what parallel universe would any jury believe Gil harassed Sara?'

"How about in the one where they hear a story like this? Eight years ago, A 44-year-old man asks a 29-year-old woman he was once involved with and who lives hundreds of miles away to drop everything--her career, her relationships, her life--and to come to Las Vegas to help him out of a difficult situation. She agrees to come. Once she gets here, he asks her to stay and offers her a spot on his team. She accepts. Over the next few years, he makes sexual advances towards her. Whenever she accepts those advances, she gets to be his star pupil. He gives her the best cases, and he lets her get away with things he'd never let the male members of his team get away with. However, when she declines his advances and tries to have a personal life that doesn't involve him, she's suddenly persona non grata at work. She's given less challenging cases. She's passed over for promotions. She's given lower marks on her reviews. After a few years of this, she gets fed up and says she's thinking about leaving. Instead of letting her, the man convinces her to stay. He says he loves her, that he wants to spend his life with her, etc. She starts to believe him. They move in together, and suddenly she's back on top. Then a tragedy happens. She's nearly killed, and the man tells anyone who'll listen about their relationship. Nothing happens to the man at work, but the woman is forced to move to different shift. It's not exactly a demotion, but it's close. She has no friends on that shift, no means of support, and the cases aren't as challenging. She becomes isolated and depressed. She starts having emotional problems. One day, she finally says enough is enough and quits both the job and the man. Does the man follow her? No. He simply moves on to his next conquest."

"You and I both know that's not what happened. If anyone pursued anyone, it was Sara who pursued Gil."

"Are you sure about that? When I questioned them about their relationship last year, Gil said they first became intimate nine years prior, but Sara said it was only two. If Sara was the one doing the pursuing, wouldn't she have been the one to say two? And she didn't just wake up one day in San Francisco and say, 'Wow, I really want to move to Las Vegas today.' He asked her to come."

"I don't know, Conrad. Maybe they define 'intimate' differently. Besides, Gil asked Sara here because of Holly Gribbs's murder, not so he could get laid."

"Maybe, but will a jury believe that? And what about her reviews? Did he give her higher marks than he should have because they were sleeping together, or did he actually take off a few points to throw off suspicion? Was she actually entitled to a higher grade? Also did he pass her over on promotions she was otherwise qualified for because he didn't want it to look like he was playing favorites if the truth ever came out?"

"Again, I don't know."

"Which is exactly why he should have never been doing her reviews. You should have."

"I still don't think Sara would ever get on a stand and say something like that."

"She's the woman scorned, Catherine. Who knows what she would say. She could get up there and lie her butt off, and the jury's still going to believe her. You want to know why? Because between the two of them, she's the personable one. Because she's the press darling who survived an attack by a serial killer, while he's the one who nearly got her killed. Because she's the super-mom, while he's the deadbeat dad that had an affair with a woman who spanks people for a living. At least, that's the way a jury could see it, and that's not a risk the county attorney is willing to take. Then, of course, there's the possible negligent hiring claim she could bring against us."

"Let me guess. For hiring Gil."

"No. For hiring Natalie Davis. In case you forgot, Catherine, we hired a serial killer to clean this building."

"We didn't know she was a serial killer at the time."

"True, but Natalie Davis used Ernie Dell's address on her job application. Ernie Dell, the very man we mistakenly fingered as the Miniature Killer. That should have set off some warning bells, but it didn't. Sara could say our negligence directly put her life in jeopardy."

"Okay, okay. I get it. Sara's a liability, so the county attorney wants to keep her quiet and happy."

"Exactly. So if Sara wants her job back, she gets her job back. If she wants on graveyard, she gets on graveyard. And if she wants to punch her husband's girlfriend in the face, then I've got to find a way to deal with it and cover it up."

"Because in the long run, it's still cheaper than a lawsuit." Catherine shook her head. "And here I thought you might actually like the woman."

"I never said I didn't like Sara. I do like her. I just don't like some of the things she does, but at least I understand why she does them a little better now. She's been through a lot. I get it."

"If you say so, Conrad."

"I'm not the heartless jerk everyone thinks I am, Catherine. I have feelings, too. Just because I don't walk around with them on public display like all of you on graveyard doesn't mean I can't show compassion for someone who's been through what Sara's been through."

"But you're not being nice to her out of compassion. You're being nice to her because the county attorney told you to."

"Sara's here, Catherine. She's not fired. She's not suspended. I doubt she really cares why. Just make my job easier and keep her away from Heather Kessler. That's all I'm asking."

"I intend to."


	26. Chapter 26

"Is that all you're going to eat?" Nick asked Sara, as he sat down beside her in the break room.

Sara looked down at the food in front of her. In the last 15 minutes, she had only managed to eat four of the grapes in the small bag that she had brought with her, and she still hadn't touched the sandwich. The high she had felt from punching Lady Heather had been replaced by regret and doubt. She turned her right hand over and looked at her bruised knuckles again. Maybe I'm my father's daughter after all, she thought. She pushed the bag of grapes away.

"I'm not all that hungry," she told Nick.

"You've been saying that a lot lately," Nick responded.

"Sorry," she said quietly.

"It's nothing to apologize for. I just don't want you wasting away is all."

"Like I'd ever be that lucky."

Nick cleared his throat and looked at Greg across the table for help. Greg took the hint. "So Sara, what's Ava been up to?" he asked.

Sara shrugged. "Crying. Eating. Sleeping. Crapping. Same as always."

Well, this change of subject isn't going well, Greg thought. "And Hank?" he asked.

"Barking. Eating. Sleeping. Crapping."

"Oh. Okay."

The three sat in silence. Sara picked up her sandwich and examined it. A replay of the earlier confrontation flashed through her head. "She hit me," she heard Heather say in a sing-song voice. "She hit me. She hit me. The crazy woman hit me." An image of her father hitting her mother then resurfaced, followed by an image of her mother holding a bloody knife. Sara put the sandwich back down. She really wasn't hungry.

Everyone glanced up when Warrick walked into the room.

"Hey, Rick," Nick said to Warrick. "Was Catherine too busy to…um…talk?"

"Actually, yeah. Ecklie just showed up, and he wasn't happy."

"Uh oh. That can't be good."

The three men looked at Sara. Sara put her food back in the brown bag, got up, and threw the uneaten food away. Sara then turned to her friends. "I knew there was a catch when Ecklie said he wasn't going to suspend or fire me. He's not going to fire me; he's going to get Catherine to."

"Not necessarily," Greg told Sara. "He could just be mad that the cleaning crew switched from two-ply to one in the bathroom, and he wants Catherine to do something about it." Nick and Warrick looked disbelievingly at Greg. Greg justified his position. "It could happen. We are talking about Ecklie here."

"Thanks for the suggestion, Greg" Sara said, "but we all know Ecklie isn't pissed about toilet paper, not unless you TP'd his office again."

Warrick laughed. "I'd forgotten about that."

"I haven't," Nick said. He got out his cell phone and showed the screen to the others. "I've been using the picture of it as my wallpaper."

Greg squirmed in his chair. "A man loses a bet one time, and he never gets to live it down."

Sara started to walk out of the room.

"Hey, where are you going?" Nick asked Sara.

"The P.D. I was supposed to meet Brass there later. I might as well go now. Catherine can't fire me if she can't find me."

* * *

"Sara Ali, you got here quick. What did you do, run every red light on the way over here?" Brass asked Sara when he saw her standing in the doorway to his office.

"No, I was already in the parking lot when you called."

"You missed us that badly?"

"Not really. I'm just hiding from my own imminent demise."

"That sounds unpleasant."

"It usually is."

"Ecklie, I presume?"

"Who else? The guy hates me. He always has, and he always will. I'm getting really tired of trying to get on his good side."

"From what I can tell, the guy doesn't have a good side. Do you want me to park his car in a fire zone and have it towed?"

"Thanks, but I don't think that's going to save my job."

"It could if I made sure he was in the trunk first."

Sara pretended to consider the possibility and then shook her. "No, thanks. Is Philip Wilson waiting on us?"

"Yep. Interrogation Room 1. You want to be good cop or bad cop?"

"Good, I guess. I think I've done enough of the bad cop thing for one night."

* * *

"I loved my wife," Philip Wilson reiterated for the fifth time. He looked at Brass for help. Despite Sara's intent to be the good cop, Philip Wilson's nonchalance over his wife and daughter's deaths and overall arrogance had caused the bad cop in Sara to come out to play. Brass ignored the man's visual plea for assistance and continued to chew on his toothpick in the corner.

Sara placed crime scene pictures of Karen's decomposing body in front of Philip. Philip looked down at them, swallowed loudly, and then pushed his chair away from the table.

"As you can see from these pictures, sir, your wife's body was laying on your living room floor rotting for four days. We checked your phone records. There's no record of any incoming calls to your house from either your cell phone or the hotel where you were staying during that time. That means you went at least four days without speaking to Karen. Mr. Wilson, if you loved your wife so much, why weren't you the least bit concerned when you hadn't heard from her in four days?"

"We had a fight, okay? Karen's got a temper. I thought she just wasn't answering the phone."

"What was the fight about?"

"Lisa Alexander."

"And she is?"

"My secretary."

"Don't you mean your mistress?"

"My mistress?" Philip Wilson asked angrily. He shook his head. "You've been talking to Tiffani haven't you?"

"Yes. She was quite…informative."

"Oh, she's something alright, including a liar."

"Why do you think she's a liar?"

"You've seen what she does for a living."

"And being a stripper someone makes her a liar?"

"If the g-string fits."

"And what does being a lawyer make you?"

"A stand up member of the community."

"Really?" Sara asked. "Hey, Brass. How can you tell when a lawyer is lying?"

"His lips are moving," Brass answered.

"Wow, you two are a riot," Philip Wilson said sarcastically. "You ought to take your act on the road."

"We thought about it," Brass said, "but Sara here gets carsick."

"And I'm feeling a wave of nausea coming on right now. I tend to project when I vomit, so you may want to duck," Sara told Philip.

"Are you denying you had an affair with Ms. Alexander?"

"Yes. An affair implies a relationship. Lisa and I didn't have a relationship; we had a one-night stand."

"You say to-may-to. I say to-mah-to," Brass told Philip. "You still had sex with her."

"Yes, I won't deny that."

"This one-nighter was supposedly awhile back, right?" Sara asked.

"Yes."

"So why were you and Karen fighting about it before you left?"

"We'd been getting a lot of hang-ups lately, all times of the day and night. Whoever was calling blocked their number. Karen said she'd also seen a strange car parked out on the street. She was convinced it was Lisa and accused me of lying about breaking things off."

"Did she say what type of car?"

"A late model Honda or Toyota. Black, maybe blue."

"A lot of people drive those. Why did Karen think it was strange?"

"Did you not pay attention when you were at my house? No one in my neighbor drives Hondas or Toyotas."

"Right. Being the upstanding member of the community that you are, you couldn't possibly live in a neighborhood where people driving anything cheaper than a Mercedes?"

"Exactly."

Sara shook her head in amazement. "Any other reason she thought it was strange?"

"Because my secretary drives an old black Honda Civic."

"Interesting. Did you deny Karen's allegations?"

"Of course I did."

"But Karen didn't believe you?"

"No, she didn't. How could she with Gypsy Rose constantly telling her what a horrible person I am? She always took her word over mine"

"You know, you must be a really crappy lawyer if you lose an argument to a stripper."

"I'll have you know I graduated in the top 25 percent of my class at UCLA. Where did you go, online U?"

"No, Harvard," Sara said. "I was valedictorian." Brass laughed in the corner.

Philip turned to look at Brass. "Is she serious?" he asked Brass.

"As a heart attack. A Harvard-educated heart attack," Brass answered.

"Okay, so back to your dead wife. The two of you fight. You get on a plane, and for the next week, it's just Karen who?" Sara asked.

"No, I tried calling in the beginning. She kept hanging up on me, so I stopped trying."

"And the drive-byes and hang-ups didn't concern you in the slightest?"

"Of course, they did."

"Just not enough to make you call or, God forbid, stay home?"

Philip Wilson pointed at the ring on Sara's left ring finger. "I see you're married. What, have you and your husband never had a fight? You haven't gone days without speaking to him?"

Sara felt her cheeks go hot. "My marriage is none of your business," she said through clenched teeth.

"What, did I hit a sore spot? Little Miss Harvard Graduate doesn't have a fairytale marriage?"

Sara said nothing. Brass left his spot in the corner and sat down next to Sara. He leaned forward until he was just inches from Philip Wilson's face. "Hit it again, and I hit your sore spot. Comprendé?"

"Yeah, I comprendé." He looked from Brass to Sara and back again. "I loved my wife. I didn't kill her or my daughter."

"So you say," Brass said.

"On more question, Mr. Wilson," Sara said. "We found red hairs on your wife's clothing. It turns out that they're not human hairs, but cat hairs consistent with an orange tabby. Do you have a cat, Mr. Wilson?"

"No. Karen was allergic to cats."

"Does your secretary?"

"That's more than one question."

"Answer her, or I go for that sore spot," Brass told Philip.

"Can you say 'police brutality'?" he asked Brass.

"Can you say 'plausible deniability'?" Brass asked back.

Philip sighed and looked at Sara. "Yes, she has a cat, an orange tabby cat."

"Thank you," Sara said.

"Can I go now?"

"Please."

"Don't let the door hit you," Brass added.

* * *

After Philip Wilson left the interrogation room, Sara did not get up. She continued to sit at the table and stare at the pictures of Karen Wilson. "Have you and your husband never had a fight?" she heard Philip Wilson say. "You haven't gone days without speaking to him?" Days, Sara thought. Try months. As Sara continued to stare at the pictures, Karen's body morphed into hers. That could be me. My body could be lying in the living room, just like that, the maggots eating away at my flesh, and Grissom wouldn't even know. He wouldn't even care. Our daughter could be lying in her crib, slowly dying of thirst, and he would be completely oblivious. Sara felt a tear slide down her cheek.

"Sara, don't let him get to you," Brass said.

"I'm not," Sara said, wiping a tear away. "I was just thinking, that's all."

"Sure you were. What's the difference between a lawyer and a vampire?"

"I don't know."

"A vampire only sucks blood at night. What's the difference between a catfish and a lawyer?

"I don't know."

"One's a slimy, bottom-dwelling, scum sucker. The other's a fish. What's the difference between a lawyer and a trampoline?"

"I don't know."

"You take off your shoes before you jump on a trampoline."

Sara continued to stare at the pictures.

"Come on, Sara. You're still not laughing. That's some of my best stuff."

"Sorry. I haven't exactly had a laughing kind of day."

"Maybe this will help. Yesterday after I left you with Nick, I did a little digging. I know where Gil is, or at least where he was."

Sara stopped looking at the pictures and turned to look at Brass. "I thought I told you not to."

"Well, I'm getting hard of hearing in my old age. I must not have heard you."

"So where is he?"

"Up until last month, he was teaching a class at the University of Florida in Gainesville."

"And now?"

"As of yesterday, there were charges on his credit cards for hotel rooms in Carabelle and Panama City Beach, Florida, a couple of liquor stores, and an amusement park in South Georgia."

Sara got up and started pacing the room. "Beaches, liquor, and an amusement park. What is he, on spring break?" she asked Brass.

"I don't know. Maybe."

Sara was becoming more and more angry. "Here I am, being the responsible adult, going to work every night whether I want to or not, raising his child, and he's what, working on his tan? Having a couple of beers? Riding roller coasters? At his age." Sara stopped pacing and looked at Brass. "What is this, a midlife crisis? Tell me, Jim, is he having a midlife crisis?"

"I honestly don't know, Sara."

"What is he going to do next? Go buy a sports car? Get a bad dye job? A tattoo of a bug on his ass? What?"

"I'm sorry, Sara. I thought you might be happy to know where he is."

"Yeah, I'm just thrilled."

"Do you want me to go get him?"

"Don't bother. I wouldn't dare ruin his good time. Maybe I'll get lucky, and he'll get eaten by a shark."

"Sara."

"No, not eaten, maimed. Maybe a great white will come along and just take his arm off. See how 'The Girls Gone Wild' like him as the one-armed man."

"I'm not sure they have great whites in the Gulf."

"A tiger shark then. I hope a tiger shark chews him up like a big old piece of licorice and then uses that hideous straw hat he's so fond of as a toothpick. Or a boat propeller. A boat propeller would be fun. Choppity chop chop chop. Goodbye arm."

"Sara, maybe you should calm down."

"This is me calm. If I wasn't calm, there wouldn't be any chairs left in here for you to sit on."

"Good to know." Sara opened the door to the interrogation room and walked into the hall. Brass followed. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to go back to the lab, clean out my locker, and wait for Catherine to fire me. Good times."

"I meant about Gil."

"I don't know. Maybe I'll ask Philip Wilson to be my divorce lawyer since we have so much in common."

"He does corporate law, Sara."

"Well, then I guess I'll just have to go home, get drunk, and be satisfied with burning every picture I have of him. It'll be cheaper than a divorce anyway."

"Maybe I should drive you."

Sara stopped and glared at Brass. "I am perfectly capable of driving myself, thank you very much."

Brass threw up his hands. "Okay. Okay."

Sofia walked up to Brass and Sara. "Hey, Sara. I didn't get a chance to tell you earlier. Welcome back."

"Oh, bite me," Sara said and walked out the door.

Sofia turned to Brass and asked, "Was it something I said?"

* * *

_Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport_

_Atlanta, Georgia_

Seven letter word for lonely, Grissom thought, reading the clue for 8 Down. Forlorn. That fits. Grissom was just beginning to fill in the squares with the letters when a small ball came crashing into his lap, wrinkling the crossword puzzle.

"Sorry, mister," said the eight-year-old boy who came up to him. "It got away from us."

Grissom handed the ball back to the boy. "No problem."

The child started to throw the ball back to the six-year-old boy with him, when the boy's mother addressed him. "Anthony Michael Thomas, what did I tell you about throwing that thing in here? You're going to get us kicked out of the airport."

"Aw, Mom," Anthony replied.

"Don't 'Aw, Mom' me." Anthony started chasing the six-year-old. "And don't chase your brother."

"Mom."

"I'm serious. Can't the two of you just sit down and play your video games?"

"We did that already."

"When? I haven't seen you."

"In the car. Duh."

"Don't duh me, mister. Can't you play them again?"

"No, they're boring," Anthony said and took off after his brother.

"I give up." The woman shook her head and looked at Grissom. "I'm sorry for that. We got stuck in that traffic jam on the interstate and missed our flight to San Francisco."

"Yeah, me, too."

"We flew out here for a family wedding, so they've had to be on their best behavior all day. Add to that the hours they spent cooped up in the car and no sleep, and you've got two boys bouncing off the walls and not listening to a word I have to say. If their father was here, maybe it would be different, but he claims he couldn't get off of work. Truth of the matter is, he just didn't want to see my mother. They don't exactly get along." The woman pointed at Grissom's wedding ring. "I see you're married. Do you get along with your mother-in-law?"

"I've never met her."

"Lucky you. You should meet mine. She brings a whole new meaning to the term 'monster-in-law.' Steven better remember this the next time she asks us to come visit her. I'm not going to be able to get off of work either, if you know what I mean." The woman grabbed the three-year-old girl that had been staring at Grissom during the encounter. "Gracie, what did Mommy tell you about staring? Sorry again. She's going through this staring phase. I keep telling her it's rude to stare, but she doesn't listen any more than those two," she said, nodding at the boys. The boys, who had continued to chase each other, crashed into the chair next to their mother. The baby in the woman's arms began to cry. "Just great, Anthony, Christopher. Do you see what you've done now? You made your sister cry."

"Sorry, Mom," they said and took off again.

The baby continued to wail. The mother looked at Grissom, as she tried to sooth the child. "Sorry, yet again. She'll stop. Eventually." The baby kept crying. "Infants, you've got to love 'em," the woman said sheepishly.

Grissom looked at the woman and child. " 'Infancy conforms to nobody; all conform to it, so that one babe commonly makes four or five out of the adults who practice and play to it.' "

"That sounds familiar. Who is it?"

"Ralph Waldo Emerson."

"Really? I haven't read him since college."

"Neither have I."

"But you still remember him?"

"Yeah. It's a blessing and a curse."

"I bet. I'm lucky I can remember my own name with these four, let alone Ralph Waldo Emerson. I can't even tell you the last time I read something that didn't do with fairy princesses or Harry Potter. Do you have kids?"

"Yes."

"Boy or girl?"

"I'm not sure. That's what I'm trying to find out."

"Oh," the woman said, looking uncomfortable.

"My wife and I are…well, we're having some problems at the moment."

"I'm sorry. Is she in San Francisco?"

"She was. I'm hoping she still is."

"I guess you kind of left your heart in San Francisco then."

"Yeah, I guess I kind of did."

The baby stopped crying and started to suck her thumb. "See, I told you she'd run out of steam eventually."

A voice came over the loud speaker. "United Flight 351 to San Francisco, now boarding at Gate T15."

The woman glanced in the direction of the gate. She then stood up and looked at Grissom. "Well, that's us. Good luck with everything."

"Thanks. You, too."

"Thanks," the woman said, as the boys crashed into the chairs again. She looked down at them. "I think we're both going to need it."

The woman gathered her children and walked them towards the gate. Grissom started to fold up his crossword puzzle when he saw the clue for 8 Across. Eight letter word for luck. Grissom looked over at the family and then back down at the puzzle. "Fortuity," he whispered. He wrote the answer on the puzzle, folded the puzzle up, and put it in his jacket. He then grabbed his carry-on and headed for Gate T15.

* * *

Sara tore the last of the pictures off her locker door and shoved them in her bag. She then grabbed her jacket and slammed the door. "Sara," she heard behind her. Sara turned around. "Catherine."

"We should talk."

"I know. Let me guess. You're here to fire me."

"No."

"Then you're here to suspend me. How long?"

"I'm not going to suspend you."

"So I guess Ecklie changed his mind and decided to do it himself."

"No."

"Then what does he want you to do to me? Pull me off of field work? Bury me in a pile of paperwork? What?"

"He just wants me to make sure you stay away from Heather."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Why?"

"Because you hit her."

"No, I mean why is that it?"

"It doesn't matter, Sara."

"Yes, it does. Why is he being nice to me, Catherine?"

"He's scared you're going to sue Clark County for sexual harassment and negligent hiring."

"Sexual harassment? Seriously?" Catherine nodded. "Is that what he thinks, that I slept with Grissom to advance my career?"

"No. He just thinks that a jury might see it that way."

"Is that what you think?"

"No, of course not."

Sara felt the tears start to fall again. "Of course you do. You all do."

"Sara."

"I've got to go. I'm going to be late for therapy," Sara said, as she walked out of the locker room. She stopped just outside the door and turned around. "Don't worry. I'll stay away from Heather. Is that all you wanted to talk about?"

"That about covers it."

"Good. Have a nice day," Sara said, her sarcasm obvious.

Catherine sat down on the bench and watched Sara leave. Hodges walked into the room and sat next to Catherine. "I just saw Sara leave. She seemed upset. What's wrong, Catherine?" he asked.

"Being in charge just sucks sometimes," she said.

"Tell me about it." Hodges put his hand on Catherine's knee. "I'm here for you."

"Hodges, get your hand off my knee." Hodges moved his hand.

"Sorry. I know it had to be hard firing her."

"I didn't fire her."

"Well, then it had to be hard suspending her."

"I didn't suspend her."

"You didn't?"

"No, Hodges, I didn't."

"So I didn't win the office pool?"

"No, Hodges, you didn't win the office pool."

"Damn."

"Go away, Hodges." Hodges continued to sit on the bench. "Now!" Catherine ordered.

"I'm going. I'm going."


	27. Chapter 27

Sara stood outside the closed door of her Police Employee Assistance Program counselor, Dr. Carla Young. It had been a long time since she had spoken to Dr. Young. She knew that she should have spoken to her after Natalie. If she had, maybe her life wouldn't be in the shambles it was now, but as a general rule Sara didn't like shrinks. They took her back to her childhood, when her foster parents would take her to visit her mother in the state mental hospital, where court-appointed psychiatrists were evaluating her mother's sanity and competency to stand trial, back to the numerous counseling sessions that she and Ritchie had to endure with the Department of Children and Family Services therapists. She hadn't liked to talk about herself back then, and she didn't like to talk about herself now. As irrational as it may seem, Sara had always felt that the term "shrink" meant that, if she ever talked about herself to a psychiatrist, if she ever truly opened up, she would indeed be "shrunk" and that she would leave the psychiatrist's office less of the person that she was when she came in. If the psychiatrist asked her to talk about the weather, the newest Hollywood blockbuster, the state of affairs in Darfur, or the latest developments in DNA analysis, she was good to go; but if the doctor asked her about herself, Sara's first instinct was to clam up. She was trying to change that about herself, but it was proving to be hard.

But I'm not doing this for me, Sara thought. I'm doing this for Ava. She deserves to have a mother that isn't so screwed up. Sara took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

"Come in," said the voice behind the door.

Sara's hand shook as she turned the doorknob. Sara tried to will her hand to stop, but it wouldn't, so she shoved her hands in her pockets and walked inside the office. "Dr. Young," Sara said to the woman behind the desk.

"Sara, it's been a long time," the woman said and stood up. She extended her hand to Sara.

Sara reluctantly took her right hand out of her pocket and shook Dr. Young's hand. So much for hiding the shakes, Sara thought. "I know. It's been a few years."

"Please sit down," Dr. Young said, motioning to the chairs in front of her desk as she returned to her own seat. Sara sat down. "So what brings you in today?"

"I thought it was time I came in to talk to you."

"I heard about what happened to you last year on the news. I thought that you would have been in before now."

Sara shrugged. "I guess I thought I could handle it."

"Could you?"

"Not really. I left town for awhile. I guess I thought time and distance would fix everything. They didn't. I think they might have actually made things worse."

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"Not really. It's over and done with. What's the point of rehashing it? I'm sure you read all about it online before I got here anyway."

"But I haven't heard the story from you. It helps to talk about traumatic experiences, Sara."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me."

"Everyone's right."

"Fine. Whatever. Where do you want be to begin?"

"How about from when you were taken?"

"I was in the parking garage. Natalie was behind my car. She called my name. I turned around. She tasered me, tied me up with some plastic ties, and put me in her trunk. One of the taser barbs was still stuck in my vest. I used that to unlock the ties. I got out of the trunk. I fought with Natalie and jumped out of the car while it was still moving. I hit my head and my face pretty hard on the ground. I passed out. When I woke back up, I was in the back floorboard of another car. Natalie had tied my hands to the door, and she was pouring water down my throat. I guess there were drugs in the water because I passed out again. When I came to, I was laying on my stomach in the desert, and Natalie was lowering a car on top of me. The car pinned both of my arms. Once the drugs wore off, I was able to dig my right arm out without much damage, but my left arm was stuck between a rock and some metal. The car was filling up with water. I thought I was going to drown, so I used one of the side mirrors to break my arm in a couple of places and get it out. Then I wandered around the desert looking for a road, passed out from dehydration, and woke up in the rescue helicopter. End of story."

"You seem very…detached in telling that."

"What do you want me to do, cry?"

"Do you want to cry?"

Sara shrugged. "No. I'm tired of crying."

"I read that your coworkers really pulled together to find you. It must have been a great relief to know that you had so many people there for you when you got out of the hospital."

Sara shrugged again. "It would have been if they were there."

"They weren't?"

"Not really."

"Do you know why?"

"I had to switch shifts, and I think they were all weirded out about some things that were said while they were looking for me."

"Why did you have to switch shifts?"

"What, you haven't heard the gossip?"

"Let's say I haven't."

"Fine. I had to switch shifts because while I was laying under that car, my boss thought it was a really good time to tell everyone we were sleeping together. Apparently, the team wanted to know why Natalie took me. I was told he said something along the lines of 'I took away the only person she's ever loved, so now she's going to do the same thing to me.'"

"By boss, I assume you mean Gil Grissom."

"Yes." Dr. Young raised her eyebrows at Sara. "I know. I know. Last time I was here, we talked about my attraction to emotionally unavailable men, in particular my attraction to him. Obviously, I didn't take your advice."

"If he made that declaration, I assume at some point he became emotionally available."

"I thought he had. Now I'm not so sure."

"Did his supervisor force you to move?"

"Not in so many words. Ecklie left it up to us as to who would move."

"And Gil didn't offer?"

"No, he offered. I just wouldn't let him. I didn't want to break up the team. I figured they needed him more than they needed me, and I could use a little more sunshine in my life."

"Are you sure that's how they felt?"

"Well, they seemed to do just fine without me. I wasn't on swing five minutes before it was 'Sara who?'"

"How did you like swing?"

"I didn't. I hardly ever saw my friends or Grissom. I got paired up with a cheerleader named Veronica Lake who asked me about a million questions a day. The cases on that shift pretty much sucked, and I got sunburned a lot."

"So Veronica--"

"Ronnie. She goes by Ronnie."

"So Ronnie's being a cheerleader bothered you?"

"I don't know if she was actually a cheerleader; she was just the cheerleader type."

"What's the cheerleader type?"

"Oh, you know. The kind who's 'Like awesome. Like wow. Like I totally like my job. I am for sure. All right. Dead bodies are out of sight.'"

"She actually said that?"

"No. I don't know. She could have. I learned to tune her out after awhile."

"So her enthusiasm annoyed you?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Didn't you used to be enthusiastic about your job?"

"I used to be enthusiastic about a lot of things."

"But you're not anymore?" Sara shrugged in response. Dr. Young moved on. "You said earlier that you were tired of crying. Have you been doing that a lot lately?"

"I guess you could say that."

"Is this a new thing or has it been happening for awhile?"

"Awhile, I guess."

"Since the kidnapping?"

"Yeah, I guess. I used to be really good at hiding it. I used to be able to put on a smile at work, pretend everything was okay, and wait until I got home to cry. I don't always make it home anymore. Some days I cry more than my daughter."

"You have a daughter now?"

"Again, you haven't heard the office gossip?" Dr. Young shook her head. "Yes, I have a five-month-old. Ava."

"If you don't mind my asking, who's Ava's father?"

"My husband."

"You're married?" Sara nodded her head. "To whom?"

"I know, I know. Pretend you haven't heard the office gossip. I married the emotionally unavailable boss."

"How's that working out for you?"

"Not so much."

"Why is that?"

"I don't know. Maybe because he cheated on me with Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, and now he's apparently on spring break in Florida."

"He slept with Elvira?"

"No, not the real Elvira. A dominatrix named Lady Heather. You've probably heard of her. She's big in government circles. She used to have her own House of Pain in Vegas."

"How did you find out about them?"

"I saw them. I came home to tell Grissom I was pregnant, and I found them in bed together."

"That must have been painful."

"You think?"

"What happened when you confronted him?"

"I didn't confront him. I left."

"You left?"

"Yes, I got back in my car and left. I went back to my brother's in L.A."

"But you're here now. You must have talked to him about it."

"Did you miss the part about him being on spring break?"

"I thought you were being facetious."

"I wish."

"So why did you come back?"

"I came back because I made a promise to my daughter."

"And what promise was that?"

"I promised her, if she would just live, that I would do everything in my power to make sure she had a better childhood than I had. You know, a mother and father who love each other. The two-car garage. The white picket fence. The dog in the backyard. The whole package."

"So you came back to fix your marriage?"

"Yes."

"But your husband was already gone?"

"Yes."

"You said 'if she would just live.' Did you doubt that she would?"

"Yes. I had what they call a placenta abruption in my 21st week of pregnancy. I guess you've heard of it, being a doctor and all." Dr. Young nodded her head. "Anyway, the abruption was fairly mild at first, and it was too early to deliver her, so they sent me home and put me on bed rest. The bleeding and contractions started back in my 28th week, so they went ahead and delivered her."

"That must have been hard, going through that alone."

"I wasn't entirely alone. I had my brother and his girlfriend."

"You've mentioned him several times now. Last time we spoke, you said you hadn't spoken to him in years."

"I hadn't, but when I was in the desert, I guess I had one of those 'life flashing before me' moments. I realized that I really wanted my brother in my life. When I left here, I went to go see him."

"So the two of you were able to work things out?"

"Yeah. It took some time, but in the end we did. We talk on the phone a lot now, and he's coming out here for Thanksgiving."

"That's good. Did you also see your mother?"

"I really don't want to talk about her."

"Sara."

"I know. It helps to talk about traumatic experiences. Can't we just save her for next week or something?"

"Fair enough. Besides the excessive crying, have you've been experiencing any other problems?

"I've been having dreams, or I guess nightmares is more accurate. I also had two panic attack yesterday."

"These dreams, are they about the kidnapping?"

"Some are. Some are like flashbacks to that night. Others are about what she could do to me or to my daughter in the future. I've also had quite a few about my father's death."

"How often are you having them?"

"Honestly, pretty much every night, or I guess every day now that I'm back on graveyard."

"Do you know what triggered your panic attacks yesterday?"

"A parking garage. It was the first time I had been back in one since the kidnapping."

"Have you been purposefully avoiding them or do they just not have many of those in L.A.?"

"No, they have parking garages in L.A. I just avoided them. Why park your own car when there's valet?"

"Have there been any more situations you've been avoiding?"

Sara shrugged. "I don't know. Like what?"

"Like the desert. Have you been avoiding the desert?"

"This is Vegas. It's kind of hard to avoid the desert."

"I mean have you gotten out in it, walked around, visited the site where you were trapped in the car?"

"No."

"Have you visited Natalie?"

"No. Why would I do that?"

"It might give you some closure." Sara shuddered. "How about your job? Has it been difficult going to crime scenes?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why?"

"I guess because I see myself in the victims sometimes."

"Do you ever feel on edge, Sara?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Do you ever feel like you have to constantly be on guard, in case there's another attack? When you go somewhere, do you automatically search the shadows to see if there's someone waiting in them to hurt you?"

"I'm a woman. This is Vegas. The crime rate is on the rise. I'd be stupid not to be on guard."

"Do you get angry easily? Have you had any violent outbursts?"

Sara showed Dr. Young her bruised knuckles. "Does punching your husband's mistress count?"

"It does. Have you had any problems concentrating?"

Sara thought back to her first night on the job and the hours she spent staring at the wall instead of processing evidence. "Sometimes."

"Do you ever feel hopeless about the future, like things are never going to get better?"

Sara thought about Grissom in Florida and about Lady Heather. "Sometimes."

"Do you ever see things that aren't there?"

Sara thought about what happened in the parking garage. "I thought I saw Natalie yesterday."

"Have you been drinking or using pills to help you cope with what happened to you?"

Sara shook her head. "No. I mean I have the occasional beer, but have I been getting drunk? No. I'm pretty much a single mother at the moment. I don't have that luxury. As for pills, definitely not. The ER doctor gave me an Ativan yesterday and sent me home with a few more, but I haven't taken them. I don't like the way they make me feel."

"How's your appetite? Have you been eating?"

"Some. I tend to lose my appetite easily. Why all the questions?"

"Have you ever heard of post traumatic stress disorder, Sara?"

"Sure. It's what some war veterans get."

"It's not just war veterans, Sara. Post traumatic stress disorder can be brought on by any traumatic event--a sexual or physical assault, an airplane crash, a natural disaster, a kidnapping, a near death experience. Some of the signs and symptoms include flashbacks to the traumatic event, nightmares, difficulty sleeping, avoidance of situations that remind the person of the traumatic event, hopelessness about the future, problems concentrating, relationship problems, self-destructive behavior, seeing things that aren't there, constantly anticipating a repeat of the event, alienation, depression, and the failure to enjoy the things the person once enjoyed. Do any of those things sound familiar to you, Sara?"

"Yes," Sara said, wiping away the tears that had fallen down her cheek when Dr. Young was enumerating the signs and symptoms of the disorder.

"I believe you have that, Sara. The good news is post traumatic stress disorder is treatable."

"How?"

"There's been a lot of success with drug therapy. There's different antidepressants and anti-anxiety medications we can try."

"No. I don't want to be medicated."

"Sara, there's nothing shameful or wrong about taking antidepressants and anxiety medications. Thousands of people take them every day, more than you would even think."

"I don't care. I don't want to take them."

"Why? Because of your mother?"

"I said I didn't want to talk about her."

"Okay. Maybe we can revisit the topic in a later session. There's also cognitive therapy, which is basically what we're doing now. It involves talking about what happened to you , changing the way that you see it and how you've dealt with it, and developing better coping skills. There's exposure therapy. It involves desensitizing you to the thoughts and memories that are making you scared. There's also a fairly new treatment called EMDR, eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. While talking about your memories of the event, you would focus on distractions like eye movements, hand taps, and sounds."

"No offense, doc, but that doesn't sound very helpful."

"It's supposed to change the way you react to your memories."

"By looking at someone moving her eyes or tapping her hands?" Dr. Young nodded. "If you say so."

"There's also group therapy. I can recommend several groups in the area if you're interested."

"They have groups for survivors of serial killers?"

"The groups aren't focused that narrowly."

"I didn't think so. So what would the group be, a mixture of war vets, rape survivors, and Hurricane Katrina victims?"

"Possibly."

"But I would probably be the only one who survived an attack by a serial killer?"

"Probably. Sara, it's not so much the traumatic event that brought you to the group, but how you're coping with it and the symptoms you're experiencing. Those transcend the traumatic event. A group can provide a great deal of support in that area."

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass on that option for now."

"Okay. Do any of the other options sound viable to you?"

"I guess I'll take what's behind Curtain 2, cognitive therapy."

"That's good. It's a start." Dr. Young looked at her watch. "Our time is almost up. Are you afraid you're going to have more panic attacks?"

"I guess so."

"Well then, I guess our last few minutes will be best spent with me teaching you a few ways to cope with them. What did you feel when you first started having the attack?"

"I was cold and sick to my stomach. My heart was racing. My chest hurt. I tried to take a deep breath, but I couldn't. I started to shake, and then I started to hyperventilate."

"Okay. The next time you feel those things I want you to do this. First, I want you to relax your shoulders and try to become aware of any tension that you're feeling in your muscles. Then I want you to tense and relax those areas, one area at a time. While you're doing that, I also want you to slow down your breathing. I know it'll be hard, but I want you to try to take deep breaths. It may help you to put your hand on your stomach so you can feel your breathing. I want you take a deep breath in from the diaphragm and then blow it out through pursed lips, like you're blowing out a candle. Do you want to practice that now?"

"No, thanks. I think I've got it."

"If you're sure." Sara nodded in response. "Then I'll see you next week."

"Okay." Sara got up and walked to the door.

"Sara," Dr. Young said when Sara was in the doorway. Sara stopped and turned around.

"Yes?"

"Things will get better, I promise."

"I hope you're right."

"Of course I'm right. That's what they pay me for."

Sara smiled. "Goodbye, Dr. Young."

"Goodbye, Sara."


	28. Chapter 28

Post traumatic stress disorder. Well, at least my idiosyncrasies finally have a name, Sara thought to herself on the way to her car. A rather obvious name if she had ever stopped to think about them. Of course, that was the problem. She didn't want to think about them. She thought entirely too much already.

When she got to the parking lot, Sara was surprised to see Nick sitting on the back of his truck, which he had parked next to her car.

"What are you doing here?" she asked him.

"I wanted to see how therapy went," Nick answered.

"Sure you did," Sara said angrily, thinking back to her conversation with Catherine.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Like you don't know."

"No, I don't."

"Whatever," Sara replied, opening her car door. Nick grabbed her arm and turned her towards him.

"Sara, what's going on with you?"

"Nothing. You can go back and tell Ecklie and Catherine that I went to therapy like a good little girl and didn't stop at a single law office along the way. No need to alert the county attorney just yet."

"Uh, okay. Why would Ecklie or Catherine care if you stopped at a law office?"

"Wow, you've really got that dumb act down. "

"It's not an act, Sara. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Fine. Let's pretend you don't. Catherine and Ecklie are scared that I'm going to sue the county for sexual harassment. That's why they're being nice to me. That's why you're all being nice to me. Because of money. Money, not friendship or loyalty or any other noble endeavor. Just money. Don't worry, Nicky. I'm not going to rock the boat. You can go home now. Go call Mommy and Daddy and tell them everything's going according to plan. Your spy work is done."

Nick started laughing. "You're joking, right?"

"Does it look like I'm joking?" Sara asked, glaring at him.

"Where on earth would you get an idea like that?"

"Catherine."

"Catherine said I was spying for her and Ecklie?"

"Not in so many words, but she did say Ecklie was scared I was going to sue."

"For sexual harassment?" Sara nodded her head. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." Nick doubled over in laughter. Sara responded by hitting him on the arm. "It's not funny, Nick."

"Yes, it is. It's quite possibly the funniest thing I've heard all year." Sara crossed her arms and continued to glare at Nick. "Come on, Sara. Think about it. Grissom making unwanted sexual advances towards you. Grissom using his position of power to get you into bed. Grissom being the aggressor. It's funny, right?"

"Why? Do you think I'm not harassable?"

"No, I think you're perfectly harassable, although quite frankly, I think if Grissom had ever done anything like that, you would have snapped him in two like a toothpick. It's funny because it's Grissom, Sara. Gil Grissom. If it wasn't for Ava and you telling me she's his, I would still think the guy was a 52-year-old virgin. You did conceive her the old-fashioned way, right? I mean, otherwise that theory could still hold water."

"Yes, we conceived her the old-fashioned way," Sara said, hitting him on the arm again.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but you've got to admit it's funny."

"Yeah, well you wouldn't find it so funny if you were in my shoes. How would you feel if you found out that everyone was only being nice to you because they're scared of a lawsuit?"

"Pretty powerful actually. You should ask Ecklie for your own parking space right in front of the building, and while you're at it, ask him to get the rest of us one, too. And how about a cappuccino and espresso machine for the break room? Not one of those cheap ones that you can get from Walmart that never work. I mean a real one, like the kind they use at Starbucks. And three days off a week instead of two."

Sara shook her head at Nick's suggestions. "You just don't get it, do you? Of course you don't. Everyone likes you, even Ecklie."

"Ecklie doesn't like me. He doesn't like anybody or anything. He's like that Mikey kid from the cereal commercials. Give it to Ecklie. He won't eat it. He won't eat anything." Nick continued to laugh.

Sara pushed past him and sat in her car. "I'm glad you're so amused, Nick. Really I am, but I have to go. I have someone who's not on Ecklie's payroll waiting for me."

Sara tried to shut the door, but Nick stopped her. "Wait a minute, Sara. There was another reason I came by. I wanted to take you out to breakfast."

"And why would you want to do that? Did Mommy and Daddy give you some pocket money to spend on your little spy trip?"

"No. Because you only ate about four grapes earlier, and maybe all of three bites of the food I made you last night. I don't want you passing out at the wheel or something."

"Yeah, you wouldn't want that. I could die, and then my estate might find a way to twist things and sue the county for wrongful death."

"Seriously, Sara, I'm worried about you. You're not eating. That's not a good thing."

"I'm fine, Nick. My body's got plenty of fat in storage it can feed off of. I'll be okay." She tried to shut the door, but once again Nick stopped her. "Seriously, Nick, I've got to go. I can't afford to pay Rachel overtime. I can barely afford her as it is."

"So we'll take Ava with us."

"You want to take a five-month-old to a restaurant?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Have you ever been to a restaurant where there's a baby screaming at the top of her lungs, and your first thought is what on earth were those people thinking bringing that baby with them, and then you're second thought is shut the hell up?"

"Yeah."

"We could be those people, Nick."

"Nah, I'm sure she'll be the perfect angel. Come on. I'll even let you drag me to one of those vegetarian restaurants you're so fond of. Please."

"You're not going to be happy until I say yes, are you?"

"Nope. "

"Fine. Meet me at home, but don't say I didn't warn you about dining with a baby."

"The words won't come out of my mouth, I promise."

Sara shut the door. Nick knocked on the window and motioned for her to roll it down. Sara rolled the car window down. "What now?"

"I just thought you should know, Mommy and Daddy paid me extra to make sure you made a happy plate."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Very funny, Nick. Very funny. Did they say I could have a sucker, too?"

"Only if you promised to brush and floss afterwards."

"Let me guess. Because if I didn't, then I could sue the county for dental decay?"

"Exactly."

Sara started to roll the window back up. "Tell Mommy and Daddy it's a deal."

"Will do."


	29. Chapter 29

"You're not eating your food, Sara," Nick told Sara an hour later.

"Yes, I am. See the fork moving?"

"I see you moving the fork around a lot so it looks like you're eating, but I don't actually see the fork going to your mouth. I used to do the same thing when I was kid, every time my mom made broccoli."

Sara scooped up a bite and put it in her mouth. "Happy now?" she asked when she got through chewing.

"No, but I'm getting there." Nick pointed at Ava in her carrier next to Sara. "See, I told you she'd be fine."

"Shhh. You're going to jinx it." Sara continued to push food around her plate.

"You're not still upset about the Ecklie thing, are you?"

"No."

"Then what's wrong? Obviously, there's something wrong."

Sara shrugged. "Nothing's wrong."

"Come on, Sara. I've known you long enough to know when something's wrong."

Sara put her fork down and looked at Nick. "Brass found Grissom."

"Really? Where?"

"Florida. Apparently, he was teaching a class at some school out there until last month. Now he's decided to have a few beers, work on his tan, ride some roller coasters, not come home."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"So am I."

"Hey, look at the bright side. At least he's not with Lady Heather."

"Some bright side."

"I'm sure if he knew you were here, he'd be on the next flight out."

"I doubt it."

"Why?"

"He didn't go after me the first or the second time. Why would he go after me now?"

"Maybe he thought that's what you wanted the first two times, for him to stay away, but you're back now. Obviously that's not what you want anymore."

"What about what he wants? If he wanted to go after me, he should have. I would have gone after him, even if he had told me not to."

"Maybe he's not as brave as you, Sara. Maybe he was scared of what you'd do or say if he did. Maybe he just didn't know what to say when he found you."

"How about I love you, Sara. I miss you, Sara. Come home, Sara. I'm sorry, Sara. Seems pretty simple to me."

"To you, yeah, but to Grissom, maybe it wasn't that simple. He loves you. Lady Heather, she was just a really bad mistake."

"Maybe, or maybe I was the mistake. Maybe that's why he didn't go after me."

"Why would you think that?"

"He called me his dog walker."

"What?"

"When that FBI agent was here. Jack Malone. Grissom introduced me to him as his dog walker. Not Sara Sidle, his girlfriend. Not Sara Grissom, his wife. Not even Sara Sidle, his coworker. No, he said I was Sara Sidle, the woman who sometimes walks his dog. His dog. Not our dog. His dog. He wouldn't even have a dog if it wasn't for me; the only animal he'd have to walk is that stupid tarantula of his. I encouraged him to get a dog. I went with him to the pound. I helped him pick Hank out. I fed Hank. I cleaned up his messes. I taught him to sit and roll over. I even named him after my loser ex-boyfriend, but do I get any credit for that? No. I'm just Sara Sidle, the woman who walks his dog."

"Sara, you're talking about Grissom here. He doesn't quite get it sometimes, you know? I mean, he's a genius when it comes to science and books and things like that, but when it comes to social interaction, he can be a little clueless. I'm sure he didn't mean it the way you think he did. I'm sure he didn't mean, 'This is Sara Sidle, my big mistake' or 'This is Sara Sidle, the woman I don't love.'"

"No, he meant it. I've been thinking about that a lot. He was ashamed of me. Some hot shot FBI agent shows up, and he's too ashamed to say, 'This is Sara Sidle, my girlfriend.' It's the only thing that makes sense to me. I mean, what would it have hurt if he had said that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Everyone knew about us back then. It wasn't like he would have divulged some big state secret or something. So the only thing I can come up with is that he was ashamed of me, that he didn't love me, that I was the mistake."

"Sara, that's ridiculous."

"Is it? If it had been S & M Barbie standing there in her leather pants and her push up bra and those stupid bangs of her and her ten-inch heels, do you think he would have said, 'Jack Malone, this is Heather Kessler, the woman who walks my dog'? No. He would have proudly said, 'This is Heather Kessler, my girlfriend.' He would have wanted bragging rights, and then the minute Heather left, Jack Malone would have patted him on the back, brought out the cigars, and congratulated Grissom for having such a hot girlfriend. Do you think they smoked cigars on my behalf? No. Do you think Jack Malone said, 'Wow, Grissom, you're dog walker's a real babe. You're a lucky guy'? No. And why is that? Because I'm not a babe, and Grissom wasn't a lucky guy, and Mr. Special Agent with the FBI knew it. Grissom was ashamed of me, and he didn't love me. That's the only thing that makes sense."

"Okay, first of all, you've got way too much time on your hands if you're psychoanalyzing some random comment Grissom made to Jack Malone a year ago. Second, you're a total babe. Lady Heather can't even hold a candle to you."

"Well, someone's obviously been sniffing the formaldehyde in the lab again."

"I'm serious, Sara."

"So am I."

"Look, Sara, I'll admit Lady Heather's pretty, but she's plastic pretty. She's all silicone and Botox and Restylane. You take away the plastic surgery and the hair extensions and all her props, and I'm sure she looks like a shriveled up old prune. You've got natural beauty."

"Translation: I'm homely on a good day."

"Man, Grissom has really done a number on you, hasn't he?" Sara shrugged. "If you're quote-unquote 'homely on a good day,' why is it that Super Dave still can't complete a sentence when you're in the room, even though he's married?"

"He stares at dead, decaying bodies all day, Nick. Anyone looks good by comparison."

"So then why do half the male lab rats drop whatever they're doing and put your work first whenever you ask them to?"

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe because I ask nicely. You should try it sometime."

Nick shook his head. "Okay, so how about Sanders? Greg's been following you around like a puppy dog for nearly a decade now. Do you think he would have done that if you were merely 'homely on a good day.'"

"There's no accounting for Greg's bad taste…or his hair."

"I give up, Sara. You're right. You're a hideous monster. I'm nearly going blind looking at you right now. My eyes. My eyes."

"Well, at least you're finally admitting it. Like I said, Grissom was ashamed of me, and apparently he still is. That's why he'd rather be getting drunk on a beach on the other side of the country than be here with me."

"Sara…" Before Nick could go any further, Ava started to cry. Sara picked up her, held her against her chest, and patted her back. Ava only screamed louder.

"See, even Ava agrees with me." Sara continued to pat her daughter on the back. "Shhh. Shhh. It's okay, pumpkin. It's okay." Ava continued to wail. Sara stood up and grabbed the carrier with her free hand. "I'm going to go outside, see if I can get her to calm down. Could you get a to-go box for me?"

"Sure. No problem," Nick said.

"Thanks."

Nick motioned for the waitress. "Can I get a to-go box for this and the check?"

"Sure thing, sugar. I'll be right back."

Nick watched Sara console Ava outside in the parking lot. I have some vacation time coming, Nick thought. Maybe I should make a little trip to the Sunshine State myself. Pick Sara up a couple of souvenirs, some oranges, some seashells, her husband, maybe even a bottle of sunshine, and bring them all back here. Maybe he could convince Ecklie that the trip was official lab business. Then he wouldn't even have to count it as vacation time.

The more Nick thought about it, the more a trip didn't seem like such a bad idea.


	30. Chapter 30

Sara looked down at Ava in the car seat. Her daughter was fast asleep, her right thumb in her mouth, her left hand still holding her pink blankie. She looks so peaceful, Sara thought. Just a few minutes ago, she was screaming at the top of her lungs, and now she looks like she doesn't have a care in the world. Sara silently wished that she could be like Ava again, that the simple hum of a car engine could magically sooth her and make all her troubles go away, that she, too, could be at peace.

Sara gingerly lifted her daughter from the seat. If she was lucky, Ava would stay asleep long enough to let Sara soak in the tub. The car ride hadn't washed away her worries, but maybe Calgon would, at least for a little while. Sara was halfway to the front door when she heard a noise behind her. "Sara," she heard a female voice say. The voice sounded familiar to Sara. Sara turned around and realized why. Heather.

"You have got to be kidding me," Sara said to Heather.

"I thought we should talk."

"Really? Because I thought we'd done enough talking for one day."

"She's beautiful," Heather said, nodding at Ava and taking a step towards her. "Is she yours?"

"No. I found her on the side of the road and thought I'd bring her home. Yes, she's mine, and if you take another step towards her, I promise you I'll break the other cheekbone."

"Is she Gil's?"

Sara shook her head in frustration. "You've got some nerve. Forget the cheekbone. I'm going for the nose."

"Well, it's a valid question."

"Is it? Why? Because the only way Gil could have cheated on me is if I cheated on him first? You don't know anything about me, lady, or my husband for that matter, so why don't you just take your preconceived notions, hop on your broomstick, and fly back home. I'm busy."

"Are you too busy to talk about what happened on New Year's Eve?"

"I already know what happened. I came home. I saw you. What more is there to say?" Ava stirred in her mother's arms. She opened her eyes, looked at Heather, dropped her blankie, and began to scream. "Great. Just great," Sara said to Heather. "Now look what you've done."

Sara tried to console Ava, but she wouldn't stop crying. Instead, she only got louder. Heather leaned down and picked up the blanket just as Mrs. O'Donnell came out on her porch next door. Mrs. O'Donnell waved at Sara.

"Sara, honey, I heard the baby crying. Is everything okay?" Mrs. O'Donnell asked from her porch.

Heather stepped closer to Sara and stuck out the blanket. "We can have this conversation outside in front of your neighbors, or we can have it inside. Your choice."

Sara yanked the blanket out of Heather's hands and turned to look at Mrs. O'Donnell. "Everything's okay, Mrs. O'Donnell. Ava just dropped her blankie. Sorry to have bothered you."

"No bother. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"We're fine, Mrs. O'Donnell. Really. I'll see you later," Sara said to her neighbor. She waved goodbye and turned to Lady Heather. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

"I have to go put her down for her nap. Make yourself at home. I'm sure you remember how."

Lady Heather sat on the sofa, while Sara went upstairs with Ava. Sara returned a few minutes later with Hank at her heels. Hank saw Heather on the sofa and started growling. Heather scooted farther away from the dog.

"Hank, heal," Sara ordered the dog. Hank stopped growling and sat by Sara, but he continued to stare at Heather. "Good dog," Sara said, petting his head. Hank whined.

"Does he bite?" Heather asked.

"He's a dog. What do you think?"

Heather moved farther down the sofa and looked up at the ceiling. Ava could still be heard crying upstairs. "Does she always cry like that?"

"Nope, just around you. Have you ever noticed how it's always the kids and the dogs that sense the evil in horror movies before everyone else? The dogs start growling. The kids start crying. I bet that's what happening here."

"Shouldn't you go see about her?"

"Yes, I should, so hurry up with it. Say whatever you're going to say, and then get out of my house."

"What happened that night wasn't what you think."

"It wasn't what I think? Are you trying to tell me that when I saw you naked on top of my equally naked husband in my bed, you weren't having sex? What were you doing then? Did the two of you get caught in a snow storm and decide to warm up by stripping off all your clothes and straddling each other in my bed? Was Gil choking on a peanut and you decided that the Heimlich maneuver was vastly overrated, so you took off all your clothes and tried to remove the peanut with your tongue? Were the two of you kidnapped by aliens, and that's how you landed when they beamed you back down to earth? What, because I really want to know."

"Of course, we were having sex. That's not what I meant."

"Well, gee, thanks for clearing that up."

"What I meant was that that night was the first and only time, Sara. We weren't having an affair. We still aren't."

"And I'm supposed to believe you why?"

"Because it's the truth." Sara shook her head. "Look, Sara. I was having a bad week. My ex only let me see my granddaughter for an hour on Christmas. That's it. I was missing Zoe and Allison, and I just needed someone to talk to."

"And the only person you could think of was Gil Grissom? I would think in your line of work, you would have a lot of friends you could call."

"Gil is my friend, Sara, or at least he was."

"Really? Because in the two and half years that we were together, I don't ever remember you calling or coming over for dinner. In fact, the only time I ever saw you was when you were, surprise, surprise, involved in yet another murder. It's funny, really, the number of those you've been involved in. Where I'm from, we call people like you suspects, not friends."

"Look, Sara, I'm not here to argue the merits of my friendship with Gil. I'm just trying to explain what happened."

"Well hurry up with it. The smell of B.S. is getting a little overwhelming."

"Like I was saying, I needed someone to talk to. I took a chance that he would be here and came over. He was already drunk when I got here."

"And you thought, 'Why talk when we can just…"

"No. I asked him what was wrong. He spent the next hour or two talking about you, about you leaving, about how much he missed you, about what a failure he was as a husband. I mostly listened. When he offered me the wine, I didn't turn it down. I had a few glasses. He had a few glasses…"

"And one thing led to another. Oldest story in the book--blame the booze."

"I'm not blaming the booze, Sara. That's just how it happened. For what it's worth, I think he was so drunk, he didn't even realize it was me. I think that after awhile, he thought I was you."

"Yeah, I can see how that could happen. I mean, we look so much alike, you could practically be my evil twin."

"I'm serious, Sara. He called me by your name…in bed. He called me Sara, and the next morning when he rolled over and realized I wasn't you, he got up, went into the bathroom, and threw up."

"Well, I guess puking was easier than gnawing his arm off."

"He ordered me to get out of his house."

"What, no morning-after cuddling? No breakfast in bed? And here I thought Gil had better manners than that."

"No, we didn't do any of those things. I left, and we haven't spoken since."

"Oh, so that's what this is all about? You want to 'talk' to Gil again. Well he's in Florida. Call Jim Brass. I'm sure he can tell you exactly where. The two of you can 'talk' all you want. You have my blessing."

"I've already spoken to Captain Brass and Detective Curtis. They're very protective of you. They…explained the situation. They also ordered me to stay away from both you and Gil."

"I'll be sure to send them a thank-you card. Anything else?"

"No. I just thought you deserved an explanation."

"Well, thanks for that. I sincerely appreciate your explanation. Really, I do. In fact, I'm so warm and fuzzy inside right now from it that I can barely contain myself. I may burst into song at any minute." Sara walked over to the front door and opened it. "Now get out before I order Hank to S-I-C-K."

Heather got up from the sofa and walked to the door. She turned around in the threshold and faced Sara. "He loves you, Sara, not me. That night was a mistake. If Gil could take it back, I'm sure he would."

Sara glared at her. "Hank, come!" she yelled.

Heather saw the dog running and stepped onto the porch. Sara slammed the door in Heather's face. Hank jumped up on Sara and wagged his tail. "Good dog," Sara said to him. "Good, good dog."

* * *

Sara went upstairs and opened the door to her daughter's room. Ava was lying in the crib, playing with her feet and babbling to herself. When Sara walked over to the crib, Ava looked at her and started laughing. Sara picked her up and gave her a kiss.

"It's okay, sweet pea. The bad lady's all gone. You were such a good girl screaming at her like that. Remind me to get you a really nice car on your 16th birthday."

Ava laughed, reached out, and squeezed her mother's nose.

"I know. I know. I should have broken her nose. Maybe next time, okay? Ready for a bath?"

Ava squealed.

"Me, too, although there's not enough Calgon in the world to take that conversation away."


	31. Chapter 31

Sara stared at her reflection in the small oval she had cleared in the fogged up bathroom mirror. With all traces of makeup and sunless tanner now gone, her face appeared pale and tired. The pallor contrasted sharply with the dark circles under her eyes. Sara dug a tube of eye cream out of the drawer and applied it to the circles. The cream promised to erase the circles, but so far it hadn't lived up to that promise. Sara wondered if she should have just saved the 20 the day she had bought it, come home, and taken a nap. Who am I kidding, she thought. I'm so sleep deprived, I could sleep for a week, and they'd still be there.

Sara patted the fuzzy halo that the steam from the bath had created on the top of her head. She grabbed a brush and tried to tame the frizz, but the brushing only made the fuzziness worse. Sara gave up and pulled her hair back in a ponytail. She'd just have to wash it again or flat iron it when she woke up. Sara looked down to pick up her toothbrush and put toothpaste on it. When she looked up again, her reflection was not alone in the mirror.

_When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother what will I be. Will I be pretty? Will I be rich? Here's what she said to me._

"Oh, shut up," Sara told the woman's image in the mirror. "Can I just brush my teeth in peace?"

_Poor, poor Sara. So sad, and so clueless. You don't really think I came by to give you an explanation for that night, do you? I came by to size up the competition._

"I know."

_Obviously, I have nothing to worry about. Comparing us is like comparing hamburger to filet mignon. The former is good if you want a quick bite to eat, but if you want to savor the meat, if you prefer quality to convenience, then you go with the latter. The Gil I know likes to savor his meat. He likes quality. You're a cheap, convenient combo meal at best._

"I'm his wife."

_A minor technicality. Come on, Sara. Look at you, and look at me. I look like I walked off the set of 'The O.C,' while you look like someone who got kicked off of a bad reality show._

"He likes the way I look."

_When did he tell you that? In bed?_

"Maybe."

_Poor Sara. Don't you know that anything a man says in bed doesn't count?_

"He also said it on our wedding day."

_Again that doesn't count. A man is supposed to tell a woman she's beautiful when she walks out in the white dress. It's in the rulebook he gets when he hits puberty. It doesn't actually mean he thinks you're beautiful. It just means he feels obliged to say it. You got anything better than that?_

"He loves me."

_Did he say that in bed, too?_

"He's said it lots of times."

_Sara, Sara, Sara. Gil loves Madagascar hissing cockroaches, too. It doesn't mean he wants to spend his life with one. He just likes to keep them in a jar and play with them from time to time, kind of like he does with you._

"We have a daughter."

_Or so you say._

"What is that supposed to mean?"

_It means that maybe you really did find her on the side of the road._

"That was a joke."

_Was it? Or was that where you picked up her real father?_

"Gil is her real father. A DNA test will prove it."

_Come on, Sara. Anyone who has ever watched daytime TV knows that, for the right price, those things can be fixed. Ever hear of Miranda Montgomery?_

"He won't believe I fixed a DNA test."

_Maybe he will. Maybe he won't. It doesn't really matter. He's not going to want her. Gil doesn't want children._

"He's never said that."

_He didn't have to. It's always been understood. If you knew him the way you claim you do, you'd know that._

"He'll change his mind the first time he holds her."

_You keep telling yourself that._

"I intend to."

_Poor, poor Sara. Look at that hair. "Homely on a good day?" You were really giving yourself too much credit_.

"Go away."

_I'm going. I'll send you a postcard from Florida. Que sera, sera. Whatever will be will._

Sara closed her eyes tight. "Go away."

_The future's not ours to see. Que sera, sera._

"Go away. Go away. Go away."

The singing stopped. When Sara opened her eyes again and looked in the mirror, only her reflection stared back at her, sad and alone.

* * *

_"Sara, can you go in and pay?" Grissom asked Sara, handing her a twenty._

_"For what?" Sara asked, looking down at the money._

_"For the gas."_

_"No one pays for gas anymore with cash, Gil. That's why they invented the debit card."_

_"I do. It makes me feel nostalgic."_

_"For what? The good old days when you had to walk barefoot in the snow to school?"_

_"No. For the good old days when 20 would actually fill up my car."_

_Sara looked down at the money again and took it out of Grissom's hands. "Fine. I wanted to get something to eat anyway," Sara said, as she pulled herself out of the passenger side of the car._

_"We just left the restaurant."_

_"So?"_

_"We just ate."_

_"Yeah, and now I'm eating again. Don't blame me; blame this one," Sara said, pointing at her swollen belly. "She didn't get full. I'm eating for two, in case you forgot."_

_"I couldn't, even if I wanted to. What was that concoction you were eating for lunch, a peanut butter and pickle sandwich?"_

_"Make fun of me all you want. One of these days science is going to come up with a way for men to have babies, and then it's going to be your turn, buddy. Peanut butter and pickles won't seem so funny then, especially when it's time for the baby to come out."_

_"Ouch."_

_"Exactly."_

_Grissom watched Sara walk into the gas station. He then turned and opened the door that concealed the gas cap. He had just started to turn the cap when he heard shots ring out behind him. Grissom turned towards the gas station and saw two masked men run out the front door of the store._

_Grissom ran towards the store. He heard people screaming around him, asking him to call 911, but he pushed past them. He had to get to Sara. He had to make sure she was all right. Grissom opened the door and saw Sara lying on the floor, bleeding from a wound to her chest. He knelt down beside her and tried to apply pressure to the wound._

_Sara looked at him. "Help me," she whispered. _

_Grissom pushed down harder on the wound. "I'm trying, honey. I'm trying."_

_Sara began coughing up blood. She reached out and grabbed one of Grissom's hands on her chest. "My one and only," she managed to say between coughs. Sara closed her eyes, and her hand went limp. Grissom looked down at her face. I'm too late again, he thought. He closed his eyes._

"Sir. Sir."

Grissom opened his eyes. The flight attendant was standing next to him. "Yes?" he asked her.

"Sir, we're approaching the San Francisco International Airport. I need to you return your tray and seat to the upright position and fasten your seat belt."

"Sorry. I guess I fell asleep."

"Not a problem, sir."

Grissom righted his seat and fastened his seat belt. He then looked out the window. If I'm lucky, an hour or two from now, I'll be with Sara, Grissom thought. If I'm lucky, I won't be too late.

* * *

"I'm worried about Sara," Catherine told Warrick. The two of them were sitting on Catherine's sofa, eating pizza and watching a movie.

"We all are."

"I should have never told her about Ecklie."

"Don't tell me Sanders was right and Ecklie has a thing for her."

"Oh, he's got a thing alright, just not the kind Greg thinks."

"What?"

"Ecklie thinks Sara might sue the county for sexual harassment. That's why he's being nice to her."

"That's a joke, right?"

"Afraid not."

"Ecklie actually believes Grissom harassed Sara?"

"No, but he thinks a jury might believe that he did. He gave a very convincing closing argument to that effect."

"So Ecklie's a lawyer now?"

"No, but the county attorney is. Ecklie says that he's under strict orders from the county attorney to give Sara whatever she wants."

"I guess that explains why he didn't put up a fight when she asked for her job back, and why he didn't make her go back to swing."

"And why he didn't have me fire her for the whole Heather incident."

"What did Sara say when you told her?"

"She was angry. She asked me if I agreed and if I thought she'd slept with Gil to advance her career?"

"You told her you didn't, right?"

"Of course I did, but she didn't believe me. She said that we all felt that way about her. You should have seen the expression on her face when she said that. I think she really believes that we do."

"Nah, Sara knows better than that."

"Does she? Did you ever talk to her about Gil after she got out of the hospital?"

"No. I barely even saw her after she switched shifts. Did you?"

"No. I barely saw her either, and when I did, the relationship was like the pink elephant in the room. We both knew it was there; we just didn't talk about it. We never really talked about things like that, even before Gil. She always seemed more comfortable talking to you or Nick or Greg."

"Maybe she thought because we didn't say anything about it, we didn't approve. We used to tease her all the time about Hank."

"Maybe. By the way, what did you think when Grissom made his little declaration? I never asked."

"I didn't have time to think anything. Sara was missing. The only thing I could think was that we needed to find her and fast."

"But afterwards?"

"Afterwards, I don't know. I guess I was happy for them. Sara had been through a lot, and she didn't have any family, at least none she talked to. I was glad she had someone who was there for her."

"That's it? You weren't mad at her for not telling you? You didn't wonder if Gil ever gave her higher marks on her evals because he was sleeping with her?"

"Not really. I could understand why she kept it quiet, and knowing Grissom, he probably gave her lower marks on the evals for it, not higher. He did recommend Nick for that promotion after all, not Sara. Mostly, I just thought it explained a lot."

"Like what?"

"Like the looks they used to give each other across the table, or why he gave her an entomology book that one Christmas but didn't give the rest of us anything, or why he always acted funny whenever Hank stopped by.

Or like this one time--I don't know, I guess it was around last January or February--Nick and I stopped by Grissom's place on his night off to ask him about a case. There was a car parked on the street like Sara's, but I didn't think anything of it at the time because it wasn't parked right in front of the townhouse. When we got to the door, I could have sworn I heard Sara's voice inside. Nick and I just looked at each other like, 'What's Sara doing here?' We had to knock several times before Grissom would even open the door. When he did, his clothes were a little disheveled, like he got dressed quickly and missed a button or two. Nick asked him if he was okay, and Grissom was like, 'Sure. Why wouldn't I be?' Nick told him that we were concerned because it took so long for him to come to the door. He said he fell asleep and didn't hear us knock.

So Grissom lets us in, and there are all these candles burning, and I ask him, 'What's with all the candles? Don't you know it's dangerous to fall asleep with a candle burning?' He said he liked to read the classics by candlelight, and he didn't mean to fall asleep in the book. At the time, I thought that kind of made sense. I mean he's Grissom; that kind of sounded like something he would do, right? Now I realize there wasn't even a book in sight.

So then Nick asked him if Sara was there. Grissom got this surprised look on his face and was like, 'No. Why would Sara be here? It's her night off.' Nick told him that we thought we heard her voice when we were outside. Grissom said that it must have been the TV."

"Let me guess. The TV wasn't on."

"Nope, but that didn't register at the time. So the whole time we're talking to Grissom about the case, he's acting nervous and jumpy. He looked up at the ceiling so much that I finally asked him if he had a woman up there. Grissom, of course, denied it, and then we heard this noise, like someone's walking on the floor above us, and Nick's like, 'Dude, you do have a woman up there.' Grissom gets all agitated and starts rambling on about how old the place was, how it's always making weird noises, and how he thinks it might be haunted. The next thing you know, this huge boxer comes running down the stairs and jumps all over us. I've never seen someone look so relieved to see a dog before in my life. He said, 'That must have been what you heard.' We didn't disagree because it sounded like a reasonable explanation, and we were just surprised to find out that he had a pet with less than six legs..

When we finally left, I asked Nick if he thought it was the dog. He didn't. I asked him if he thought it was Sara. Nick was like, 'Nah, man, she would have told us.' We decided it had to be either Lady Heather, a hooker, or both. Of course, now I know different.

Why, what did you think?"

"Part of me was mad at Gil for not saying something sooner, part of me was mad at myself for not figuring it out , and part of me was like, 'It's about damn time.' It'd be a little hypocritical of me to still be mad about it, considering I've got my own pole hanging off the company pier."

"Well, technically, I'm the one with the pole."

"Technically," Catherine said. She leaned over and kissed Warrick.

"Aw, Mom," Lindsey said, as she came in the front door with her backpack slung over one shoulder.

Catherine and Warrick pulled apart. "Hello, Lindsey," Catherine said, looking at her daughter. "How was school?"

"It was school. What do you think? Seriously, Mom, the two of you act more like teenagers than I do. It's embarrassing. What if I had friends with me?"

"It was just a kiss, Lins."

"Like I don't know where that leads."

"Lindsey."

"I'm serious, Mom. The walls are not as thick around here as you might think. I'm seventeen. I'm not stupid or deaf for that matter. Why do you think Nana finally moved out?"

"I don't know. Maybe because your grandfather planned for her to have the penthouse suite when the Eclipse finally opened, and it finally has?"

"No, because she couldn't get any sleep from the two of you. She's old. She needs her rest."

"I'll be sure to tell her you said that."

"Mom, seriously, can't the two of you just limit yourselves to school hours? Or, better yet, why don't you just hold out until next year? I'll be in college, and the two of you can do whatever you want, wherever you want, and I won't have to see or hear it."

"I'll think about it, Lindsey"

"Really?"

Catherine kissed Warrick again and then looked at Lindsey. "No, not really."

"Ugh!" Lindsey yelled. "I hate living in this house. I can't wait to get out." Lindsey ran down the hallway and slammed her bedroom door.

"Teenagers. You've got to love them," Catherine said to Warrick.

"You get perverse pleasure out of torturing her, don't you?" Warrick asked.

"Damn straight. It's payback for the all the sleepless nights she's caused me over the years."

"Can you imagine Grissom and Sara having to deal with Ava when she's that age?"

"Oh, yes I can," Catherine said and laughed, "and I plan on being there with a video camera to get it all on tape."

* * *

Sara was about to lie down when Ava began to scream in her bedroom. Sara went down the hall and looked in at her daughter.

"Ava, baby, now what?" she asked. Ava looked at her and screamed louder. Sara walked over to the crib and picked up her daughter. Ava continued to cry in her mother's arms.

"Come on, baby. Mommy needs her sleep. You've got to stop crying for me, okay?" Ava kept on crying. "What's wrong? Are you wet?" Sara checked Ava's diaper. "No, you're not wet. You just ate an hour ago. You can't be hungry again already. Do you have a fever?" Sara felt her head. "You don't feel hot. Let's find the thermometer and check anyway." Sara got the digital thermometer out of the drawer in the changing table and stuck it in Ava's ear. A few minutes later, the thermometer beeped. Sara looked at it. "98.6. Okay, you don't have a fever. What's wrong? I wish you could tell me what's wrong."

Ava continued to scream. Sara sat down in the rocking chair and rocked her daughter, but even the rocking action failed to sooth her. Sara started crying herself, as she rubbed her daughter's back. "Please, baby. I can't keep doing this. I've got circles from hell. I'm seeing people who aren't there. I'm about to drop. You've got to stop crying."

Ava didn't stop. The more she cried, the more Sara cried. Sara finally gave up trying to console her and stood up. "Okay, Ava, how about this? How about we both go crawl into Mommy's bed and we'll cry together? We'll make a day of it. Does that sound like a plan?"

Ava screamed in response. "Sounds like a plan," Sara said.

* * *

_San Francisco Crime Lab_

_San Francisco, California_

"Hi, my name is Gil Grissom. I'm with the Las Vegas Crime Lab." Grissom showed his credentials to the receptionist at the front desk. "I need to speak to someone who worked with a CSI named Sara Sidle eight years ago."

"Sara who?" the receptionist asked.

"Sara Sidle."

The receptionist wrote it down. "And she worked here when?"

"Eight, eight and half years ago."

The receptionist wrote that down as well. "I'm going to have to go in the back and see if anyone knows who you're talking about. I've only been here two years, and I've never heard of her. Can you take a seat?"

"Sure."

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

Ten minutes later the receptionist returned with a man. The man walked over to Grissom and held out his hand. "Gil Grissom?" he asked.

"Yes," Grissom said and stood up.

"Jake Holden," the man said. Grissom shook his hand. "I was Sara's supervisor on days. I take it you're the guy who stole her away from us."

"I guess you could say that."

"Come on back." Grissom followed Jake down the hall to his office. Jake motioned for Grissom to take a seat before he sat behind the desk. Grissom sat down. "So how can I help you?"

"I'm trying to find Sara. I was hoping you might have seen her."

"I haven't seen Sara in eight years. The last I heard she was in Vegas. Why did you think she would be here?"

"Sara took a leave of absence last year. The last time we spoke, she said she was in San Francisco. I thought she might have come by here to see her old friends, maybe ask for her old job back."

"If she did, I didn't know about it."

"Could you check around and see?"

"Yeah, I guess I could do that. Some of the old team has moved on, but I can ask the ones who are still here. If you don't mind me asking, why did Sara leave?"

"I guess you could say she was burnt out, among other things."

"In my experience, once a CSI burns out, they stay burned out. Don't take this the wrong way, but if Sara is, in fact, burnt out like you said, why are you trying so hard to find her?"

"Because I married her."

"Oh. Well I guess that answers my question. I'll be right back."

Jake Holden returned to the office about 20 minutes later. "Okay, I've talked to everyone I know. No one has seen her. They did suggest that you try the Northern Precinct. Sara's brother Richard used to work out of there, and Sara was dating his partner, Michael Barrett, before she left."

"Thanks. I'll try that." Grissom got up and started to walk out of the office.

"Gil," Jake said, as Grissom got to the door.

"Yeah?"

"I hope you find her."

"So do I, Jake. So do I."


	32. Chapter 32

Grissom looked at his watch as he got out of the rental car. It was 6:30 p.m. The drive from the San Francisco Crime Lab to the Northern Precinct in rush hour traffic had taken longer than he expected. He hoped that Sara's brother hadn't left yet. He had waited long enough to find Sara. He didn't know if he could make it through one more day of self-doubt and nervous anticipation. Grissom went into the building and showed his credentials to the officer posted at the front desk.

"Hi, I'm Gil Grissom with the Las Vegas Crime Lab. I was hoping to speak to an Officer Richard Sidle about one of his cases. Is he available?"

"Sorry, sir, Officer Sidle doesn't work here anymore," the officer told him.

"He doesn't?"

"No, sir. He moved to L.A. about four years ago."

"Figures." Grissom shook his head in frustration. "How about Officer Michael Barrett? He didn't move, too, did he?"

"No, sir. He still works here."

"May I speak to him then?"

"I'm sorry, sir. You just missed him. He left about an hour ago."

"Of course he did. Will he be back in the morning?" The officer started to answer, but Grissom held up his hand. "Wait. Let me guess. Tomorrow's his day off or he just left to go join the peace corp in Africa and won't be back for three months."

"No, sir. As far as I know, Detective Barrett will be back in the morning. Is it something urgent? Maybe one of the other officers can help you."

"I doubt it, unless one of them dated my wife, too."

"Excuse me."

"Never mind. What time should I come back in the morning?"

"Detective Barrett is usually here by 9 a.m."

"Great. I guess I'll be back at 9 a.m. then. Thanks for the help."

"You're welcome, sir."

Grissom left the building and got back in his rental car. He was going to have to go back out in traffic and find a hotel room. The way his luck was going, San Francisco would be having about 100 different conventions this week, and every hotel from San Francisco to Oakland would be booked. Grissom sighed and cranked up the car. If it wasn't for bad luck these days, he wouldn't have any luck at all.

_

* * *

_

Sara and Greg opened the kitchen door to Heather's house and walked into her kitchen. Greg looked around the kitchen. "I hope she's here."

"_Trust me. She's here," Sara told him. "She's not going to go out in public with her eye looking like that."_

"_Good. So what do you say we concoct ourselves a little black eye cure that'll induce her to spew red, white, and blue?"_

_Sara looked in Heather's fridge, while Greg rummaged around in the cabinets. "What about, like, milk and orange juice? What's the upchuck factor on that?"_

_Greg pulled out a bottle of Drano from under the sink. "I don't know. I'm a no rust buildup man myself."_

"_Don't be an idiot, Greg. That stuff will kill her."_

"_True."_

"_I know. We can cook up some soup and put it in a Coke. That's pretty sick, right?" Sara pulled two cans of soup out of the cabinet. "Now should it be chicken noodle or bean with bacon?"_

_Greg got a white mug out of another cabinet and poured the Drano in it. "Put a lid on that stuff, Sara. I say we go with big blue here."_

"_What are you talking about? Heather would never drink anything that looked like that anyway."_

"_So we'll put this on it," Greg said, adding a lid to the mug. "She won't be able to see what she's drinking."_

"_It stays in the cup, jerk," Sara said, as she took the milk and orange juice out of the fridge and placed them on the counter. "Okay, milk and orange juice it is." Sara poured the two beverages into another white mug. Greg walked over to her and looked down at the mixture. "Maybe we could cough up a phlegm globber or something."_

_Greg shrugged and started trying to cough up some phlegm. Sara joined him. They tried for a few more minutes and stopped. "No," Greg and Sara said in unison._

"_Oh, well," Sara said. "Milk and orange juice will do nicely." Sara put a lid on the mug._

_Greg picked up the Drano mug and showed it to Sara. "You chicken?" he asked._

"_You're not funny."_

_Greg grabbed Sara and kissed her. Sara pulled away and looked at Greg. "What are you doing, Greg?"_

"_I got caught up in the moment."_

"_Well get uncaught. I'm married, remember?"_

"_Sorry."_

_Sara picked up a mug and started to walk out of the kitchen. Greg looked down and realized Sara had picked up the wrong one. "Sara."_

"_What, Greg?"_

"_Never mind. I'll carry the cup." Greg walked over to Sara and took the cup out of her hands._

_Greg and Sara walked into Heather's bedroom. Heather was laying on her back in the middle of the bed, her left eye still visibly bruised and swollen. Greg cleared his throat. Heather opened her eyes, looked at Greg and Sara, and sat up in the bed._

"_Morning, Heather," Sara said to her._

"_Sara," Heather said back. She looked at Greg. "Jesse James. What a surprise. Hear about Sara's affection for hyperventilation?"_

"_Heather, I think yesterday we said a lot of stuff we didn't mean," Sara said to Heather._

"_Did we?" Heather asked. "I came by to apologize for sleeping with Gil, and what's my thanks? You try to sick your dog on me. Tomorrow morning you're history. I'm going to tell everyone about your little panic attacks. Transfer to L.A. Transfer to San Francisco. Transfer to Anchorage for all I care. No crime lab in this country is going to let you play their reindeer games."_

"_What's your damage, Heather? I'm trying to say I'm sorry."_

"_Are you now? How did you get in here anyway?"_

_Greg took a step towards Heather. "Sara knew you'd be sore from the whole punching incident yesterday, so I whipped this up for you." Greg showed Heather the mug. "It's a family recipe. Nana Oloff says it'll take the sting right out of a black eye."_

_Heather looked suspiciously at the mug. "What did you do, put a phlegm globber in it or something? I'm not going to drink that crap."_

_Greg looked at Sara. "I knew this stuff would be too intense for her."_

"_Intense?" Heather asked. "Grow up. You think I'll drink it just because you call me chicken." Greg nodded in response. Heather reached for the mug. "Just give me the cup, jerk." _

_Greg gave Heather the mug. Heather chugged its contents. A pained look came over her face, as she grabbed her throat and made a series of choking noises. Heather stepped forward and looked at Sara. "Corn nuts," she muttered and fell through the glass coffee table that was in the sitting area at the foot of the bed. Greg and Sara jumped back from the broken glass and looked down at Heather, who remained motionless on the floor._

"_Oh my God, I can't believe it!" Sara exclaimed. "I just killed my husband's girlfriend!"_

_Greg started pacing the room. "What are we going to tell the cops? Screw it if she can't take a joke, Brass?"_

"_Forget the cops. What are we going to tell Ecklie? He is so going to fire us. And what about Grissom? We're going to have to celebrate our first wedding anniversary in the conjugal visit room at the state pen."_

"_Okay. I'm freaking out here. At least you got what you wanted, you know."_

"_Got what I wanted? It is one thing to want somebody out of your life. It is another to serve them a wake up call full of liquid drainer."_

_Greg stopped pacing and looked at Sara, who had sat down at Heather's desk. "Okay. So we did a murder, and that's a crime, but look at us. We're CSIs, and not just any CSIs either. We're CSIs at the one of the best crime labs in the country. If anyone can get away with a murder, it's us."_

"_And how do you propose we do that, genius?"_

"_We'll make it look like a suicide thing, you know?"_

"_A suicide thing?"_

"_Yeah. Can you do Heather's handwriting?"_

"_I don't know. I can try."_

"_Good. So we'll write a suicide note, and then we'll wipe down everything we touched, vacuum up any trace, and take the bag with us. Hold on a minute," Greg said. He ran out of the bedroom door and returned a few minutes later holding two sets of latex gloves. "I got these out of the car. You better put them on. You don't want to leave fingerprints on the note."_

_Sara took a pair of gloves and put them on. She then dug in the drawer of Heather's desk for a pen and a piece of paper. Sara read out loud what she was writing on the note. "You might think what I've done is shocking."_

_When Sara paused to think what to write next, Greg offered up the next few sentences. "To me though, suicide is the logical answer to the myriad of problems life has given me. Since my daughter died, my life has been shrouded in a lonely darkness, a darkness that I no longer have the strength to fight. I want to submit to the darkness. I want to be with Zoë."_

"_Wait," Sara told Greg. "Heather would never use the word 'submit.' She was a dominatrix, not a submissive, remember?"_

"_But she would if that's why she killed herself, because she finally found a situation she couldn't dominate, her daughter's death."_

_Sara shrugged. "I guess that makes sense." She wrote Greg's suggestion down and added her own. "People think that just because you're beautiful and a dominatrix, life is easy and fun. No one understood that I had feelings, too. No one understood just how lonely I was."_

_Greg added one last sentence. "I die knowing no one knew the real me. Heather."_

"_That's good," Sara told him. "Have you done this before?"_

"_No. I've just watched a lot of movies. Speaking of, maybe we should see if she has a copy of __Moby Dick__. We can highlight a bunch of passages, make it look like she was even more depressed than she was." _

"_Good idea." Sara got up and looked around the room for the book. "The only book I see is __The Kama Sutra__." _

"_I guess that'll have to do. Why don't you flag some pages with submissive positions, while I go look for the vacuum."_

"_Okay." Sara sat down at the desk and started flipping through the book. In the distance, an alarm sounded. Sara turned around and yelled for Greg. Greg came running into the room._

"_What?" he asked._

"_I hear an alarm. What did you do?"_

"_Nothing."_

"_The alarm didn't go off by itself, Greg. You had to do something."_

"_I didn't do anything, I swear."_

"_Well go turn it off."_

"_I can't."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because you have to. It's your alarm clock, Sara. It's time to get up."_

"_Oh, crap."_

Sara opened her eyes. Hank was sitting next to the bed, his leash in his mouth, whining to go out. Sara hit the snooze button on the alarm clock on the nightstand and rolled over. Ava was awake and lying next to Sara. She smiled at Sara, and Sara smiled back.

"Looks like somebody's in a better mood," Sara told Ava. She leaned over and kissed daughter on the cheek. Ava grabbed a lock of Sara's hair that had come loose from her ponytail and yanked it hard. "Ow," Sara said. She leaned back and pulled the hair out of Ava's hand. Ava laughed. Sara wrinkled up her nose, as she finally registered the smell in the air. "Someone needs changing," she said to Ava. Hank nudged Sara in the back with the leash. "And someone else needs walking. I know. I know. I'm getting up. At least I didn't wake up screaming this time."


	33. Chapter 33

_The Marriott_

_San Francisco, California_

Maybe his luck was finally beginning to change, Grissom thought, as he stared out the window of his hotel room. Not only had he been able to get a room, but he had been able to get the same room that he had stayed in during the Forensic Academy Conference ten years ago, the same room where he had first made love to Sara.

Grissom thought back to that night. That night had changed everything. Ordinarily, he didn't believe in one-night stands. He knew for some men they were so common that they were practically rites of passage, but he wasn't most men. For him, one-night stands had always seemed sad, as sad as paying for sex, but that night had been different. Sara had been different. She still was. Besides, that night hadn't been so much a one-night stand as a beginning, even if it had taken him another seven years to admit it.

Grissom looked around the room. The furnishings had been updated, but otherwise the room was still the same. He could still feel Sara's presence in the room. Grissom closed his eyes and remembered that night.

_Sara had approached him after his last class. She had complimented his speech on the role of the black soldier fly in the advanced stages of decomposition and asked him if he would be willing to discuss the topic more over dinner. He had surprised himself by saying yes, and she had surprised him by seeming genuinely interested in what he had to say. Up to that point, his dinner dates' eyes had always glazed over whenever he would talk about bugs, and if he had ever moved on to the topic of decompositions, his dates would politely excuse themselves to the ladies' room, never to return. Sara's eyes, however, had remained animated. She had matched him question for question, point for point, the entire evening, without once losing her appetite. When they were done with dessert, he had offered to loan her his copy of Entomology and Death: A Procedural Guide, and she had followed him back to his room to get it._

_He remembered turning around to hand Sara the book and being surprised when she had kissed him. "What are you doing?" he had asked her._

_"I thought that was self-explanatory. I'm kissing you." She had smiled at him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him again._

_He had pulled back. "Why?" he had asked her._

_"Again I thought that was self-explanatory. We went to dinner. You invited me back to your room. This is the part where one thing leads to another."_

_"But I thought you wanted to borrow the book."_

_"I do, but right now I want to borrow you." Sara had taken the book out of his hand and tossed it on the bed. She attempted to kiss him again, but his next question had halted her lips._

_"But why?"_

_Sara had stood back and looked at him. "What's with all the questions?" she had asked. "I can't be the first woman who's ever followed you back to your room." Grissom had felt his face redden in response. "Wow. You've definitely been hanging around the wrong women."_

_"I'm serious, Sara. You could have your pick of any man here. Why me?"_

_"Why not?" Sara had asked him coyly and stepped closer to him. When she began playing with the buttons on his shirt, he had grabbed her hands and stepped back. She had looked him in the eye and sighed. "Okay, okay. How about because I find your eyes as beautiful as your mind. Is that a good enough answer?"_

_She had kissed him again, and this time he had kissed her back. When her hands returned to his buttons, he had stopped and pushed her away._

_"We can't do this," he had told her. "I'm your teacher. You're my student."_

_"Not anymore. The conference is officially over. You go home tomorrow, remember?" She had reached up and stroked his cheek as if to emphasize the fact. _

_He had reached for her hand and removed it from his cheek. "I still think…"_

_She had sighed and stepped back again. "Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?" she had asked him._

_"Is there such a thing?"_

_"Only if it keeps you from feeling." Sara had reached behind her, unzipped her dress, and let it fall to the floor. "Feel me," she had said. As she stood before him wearing not much more than black lace, Grissom had stopped thinking, reached for Sara, and allowed himself to feel. He had felt more that night than he had felt in a really long time, perhaps more than he had ever felt up to that point._

_When he woke up the next morning, Sara had been gone. "Figures," he had said to himself and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Sara had been standing in the doorway to the bathroom. "You're still here," he had said._

_"Yeah, I, um, had morning breath," she had said, blushing. "I was hoping I could brush my teeth and sneak back into bed without you noticing."_

_"You're wearing my shirt."_

_"Yeah, sorry about that. I got cold."_

_"Don't be. It looks better on you than it does on me."_

_Sara had sat down next to him on the bed, looking embarrassed. "About last night. I know I came on a little a strong. I don't want you to think that I'm like that because I'm not. I'm not that girl. I'm not someone who meets a guy and follows him back to his hotel room. I'm not. Really. It's just…I met you, and I felt this connection, and all I could think about was…"_

_He had taken her hand in his. "I know," he had said, interrupting her._

_She had smiled and looked down at their intertwined hands. When she looked back up, she had had a twinkle in her eyes. "You know check out's not for another few hours."_

_He had pulled her towards him. "I know," he had said and kissed her. Then he had allowed himself to feel some more._

Grissom opened his eyes and sighed. He had wasted so much time after that night. When he had finally worked up enough nerve to call Sara, he had not mentioned that night. Instead, he had asked her if she was enjoying Entomology and Death. He also didn't mention it to her in the two years they corresponded by phone and email or when she first came to Vegas to investigate Holly's death. Instead, he had acted like that night had never happened, and that had broken Sara's heart. Hell, it had broken his heart as well, but he had been too scared of rejection to do something about it back then.

"I'm doing something about it now, Sara," Grissom whispered. "Just leave me some clue as to where you are, and I'll tell you that in person. I promise."

Hopefully, Sara had left just such a clue with Michael Barrett. He would find out tomorrow.

* * *

"Well you look like crap," Hodges said to Sara, as she locked the door to her car.

Sara turned to look at him. What is he doing, stalking me, she asked herself. Two nights in a row. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll go away. Sara turned away from Hodges and started walking towards the building.

Hodges hurried behind her. "You look like you haven't slept in months."

Sara stopped walking. Obviously, ignoring him isn't going to work, she thought. Maybe I can kill him with kindness. Sara turned around and smiled. "Nice to see you, too, Hodges. Is that a new shirt?"

"Actually, it is," Hodges said, adjusting the collar. "You like?"

"No," Greg answered for Sara, as he walked up behind Hodges. He tapped Hodges on the back. Hodges turned to look at him. "Hey, Hodges, didn't your mother ever teach you if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all?"

"I'm just stating the obvious," Hodges told Greg before turning back to Sara. "Did you and Nick have another late night?" he asked her.

Greg walked past Hodges and put his arm around Sara. "No, we did. Jealous much?" he asked Hodges.

Hodges looked at Sara. "You and Sanders?" he asked her.

Sara shrugged. "What can I say? I like to spread the wealth."

"I bet you do."

Sara leaned over and whispered in Greg's ear. "If I should accidentally trip and throw this coffee on him, you'll back me up, right?"

"I'll even help you throw it," Greg whispered back.

Sara straightened up and looked down at her coffee cup. "You know, Hodges, you should consider yourself really lucky that I'm in desperate need of caffeine right now."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means go to work, Hodges," Greg answered. "Go fast."

Sara raised her coffee cup at Hodges. Hodges threw up his hands in surrender. "I'm going. I'm going." Hodges stopped on the steps and turned to face Greg and Sara. "You know, the boss would appreciate the fact that I'm trying to find out the truth."

"I'm sure he would, Hodges. Now go away," Greg said back. Hodges smirked at Greg and went into the building. Greg shook his head. "Unreal. Grissom isn't even here, and Hodges is still kissing his ass."

"What truth is he talking about?" Sara asked Greg.

"It's nothing, Sara. He's just mad he lost the office pool yesterday when Catherine didn't fire you, so he started a new one."

"I knew there had to be pool. What's the new one about?"

"Trust me. You don't want to know."

"Yes, I do. Obviously it's about me or you would have already told me."

"It's nothing, Sara. Really." Greg started walking towards the door, but Sara grabbed his arm and stopped him.

"Greg, tell me."

"Okay, but promise me you won't kill the messenger."

"I promise. Now tell me."

"Okay, okay. It's a 'who's your baby's daddy' pool," Greg mumbled.

"I'm sorry. My hearing must be going bad or something because I thought I just heard you say it was a 'who's my baby's daddy' pool."

"No, your hearing's pretty dead on. That's what I said."

Sara looked down at her coffee cup. "You know, I'm feeling wide awake now. I don't think I need this cup of coffee after all."

Greg flinched and stepped back. "Hey, you promised you wouldn't kill the messenger."

"I'm not. I'm going straight to the source. It'll be justifiable homicide," Sara said, charging up the stairs and into the building.

Greg ran after her. "Here we go again," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

"Where's the little rat?" Sara asked Mandy, as she burst into the lab.

"What rat?" Mandy asked Sara, raising her feet off the floor. "Did a rat get loose again?"

Sara turned and looked at Hodges and Wendy, who were coming in the other door. "Yeah, that one," Sara told Mandy, pointing at Hodges.

"Uh, oh," Hodges said. He grabbed Wendy and put her in between himself and Sara.

"You better hide, Hodges. You're a dead man when I get a hold of you."

"What did you do now?" Wendy asked Hodges over her shoulder.

"Like you don't know," Sara said to Wendy. "So whose idea was it, yours or his?"

"What idea? I don't know what you're talking about, Sara," Wendy told her.

"Sure you don't. The 'who's my baby's daddy' pool. That idea."

"Oh, that," Wendy said, backing up.

"Oh, that. Suddenly your memory's all clear?"

"Yeah. It was all his idea."

"That's not true," Hodges said, still cowering behind Wendy. "She helped."

"You are so not getting any when we get home," Wendy told Hodges. "I'm sorry, Sara. It was just a joke. A really bad joke."

"Really? If it was such a joke, who did you put your money on?"

"Grissom, of course. I would never think that you would…you know…uh…" Wendy said, backing up some more.

"That's not true either," Mandy told Sara. "She bet 50 on Nick and 25 apiece on Greg and Warrick. She didn't put any money on Grissom."

"Mandy!" Wendy exclaimed.

"Hey, I told you it was a bad idea, but would you listen? No. For what it's worth, Sara, I didn't place a bet at all."

"That's only because she's broke at the moment," Hodges said.

"Shut up. You're not helping any," Wendy told Hodges.

Sara started towards Wendy and Hodges, removing the top to her coffee cup as she walked. "So tell me, Hodges. How do you like your coffee, with or without cream?"

"Uh, without."

"Too bad for you. Mine's with. I guess you'll have to settle." Sara raised the cup above Hodges head, but a hand grabbed hers before she could pour it. Sara turned to look at the person who the hand belonged to. "Nick, what are you doing here?"

"Greg sent up the bat signal. He didn't think he could take you on his own, given what happened yesterday. Now give me the cup," Nick said, reaching for the cup with his other hand.

Sara tightened her grip on the cup. "No. I want to see if he can melt."

"I'm sure he can, Sara, but there are better ways of proving it, ways that don't get you arrested. Do you want to celebrate Ava's first birthday in prison?"

"No."

"Then give me the cup. I think you already made him pee in his pants. That should be enough humiliation for one night."

"I did not pee in my pants," Hodges told Nick.

"Sure you didn't, Hodges. That's why you're hiding behind a girl."

"Fine, take the cup. Just take it," Sara said, loosening her grip on the cup. Nick took the cup from Sara and handed it Greg behind him. He then pulled Sara away from Hodges. "This isn't over, Hodges."

"Ooh, I'm scared," Hodges said sarcastically, finally emerging from behind Wendy.

"You should be," Sara said and took a step back towards him. Nick pulled her back again.

"Come on, Sara. Let's take a walk."

* * *

"What was that about?" Nick asked Sara, as he sat behind Catherine's desk.

Sara sat in one of the chairs opposite the desk and crossed her arms in anger. "The new office pool. What else?"

"Oh that."

"That's exactly what Wendy said. 'Oh, that.' What, were you in on it, too?"

"Sure. I put 10 on Ecklie, but that was before I knew the real reason he was being nice to you."

"Nick…"

"I'm kidding, Sara. Yes, I knew about it. No, I'm not in on it."

"You should have told me."

"With the mood you were in? No offense, Sara, but I don't have a death wish."

"So where's Catherine? I need to talk to her about something."

"She and Warrick have the night off."

"Isn't that convenient."

"I guess that means you figured them out."

"Second night back. I'm kind of mad at myself for not figuring it out the first night. So who's in charge tonight?"

"You're looking at him."

"I guess you finally got that promotion Grissom recommended you for."

"Sort of. I get to be in charge when Catherine's not here, but I'm not getting paid any more for it. Now that you and Ecklie are so close, maybe you could mention that to him."

"I'll think about it. Maybe when I talk to him about that parking space. Speaking of Ecklie, since you're in charge tonight, I guess I should discuss this with you then. I wouldn't want Ecklie to say I wasn't following orders."

"What orders?"

"To stay away from Super Tramp."

"Sara…"

"Hey, I didn't go after her. She went after me. She was waiting for me when I got home this morning."

"Please tell me you didn't hit her again."

"No, but I thought about it."

"So what did you do?"

"I let her say whatever it was she wanted to say, and then I kicked her out. Metaphorically, of course, not physically. There was no touching, I swear."

"So what did she say?"

"That she wanted to explain. That New Year's Eve was a mistake. That it was the only time they had ever slept together. Blah, blah, blah."

"Do you believe her?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Gee, I don't know. Maybe because she started the conversation by accusing me of lying about Grissom being Ava's father."

"Good reason."

"Obviously she wasn't there out of the goodness of her heart, assuming she even has one under all that leather. She was there to size up the competition, so I let her do her sizing and then I threatened to sick Hank on her."

"Sara, Hank's afraid of his own shadow. Literally. I've actually seen him bark at his shadow before."

"So have I, but Heather hasn't. She was scared to death. It was rather gratifying to see her that scared, especially after she scared Ava. I couldn't get Ava to stop crying for hours, which means I didn't get to sleep for hours, and hence the reason I look like crap, to quote Hodges."

"Hodges said that?"

"Yep."

"Nice. I can get you another cup of coffee if you want."

"No, thanks. The moment has passed. I'll figure out some other way to deal with Hodges."

"I meant to drink."

"Oh. Thanks. In that case, coffee would be nice."

Nick got up and returned a few minutes later with a fresh cup of coffee. He handed it to Sara.

"Thanks," she told him. "Any chance tonight will be a slow one and I can sneak a nap in the break room?"

Nick started to answer her but the phone rang. He held up a finger and answered the phone. "Nick Stokes. Uh, huh. Okay. And that's where exactly. Okay, I've got it. I'm sending someone over right now." Nick handed Sara a piece of paper.

Sara looked down at it. "I guess this is my answer."

"Yeah, sorry about that. There's been a robbery at the Kit Kat Bar."

"Swell," Sara said, getting up from the chair. "At least it should go fast."

"Take Greg with you. It'll go even faster."

"What if another call comes in?"

"I've got it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, go ahead. And Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"If you plan on taking that coffee with you, stay clear of Hodges."

"I will."

"I'm serious, Sara. That coffee comes out of our budget. Hodges isn't worth the waste of money."

"Spoken like a true supervisor."

* * *

Sara leaned her head against the passenger window and closed her eyes. If she was lucky, traffic would be bad on the strip, and she could get at least a few minutes of shut-eye.

Greg glanced over at her and frowned. "Sara?" he asked.

"Hmm?"

"Not that I would ever agree with Hodges on anything, but you do look kind of tired."

Sara opened her eyes, sat up, and looked at Greg. "You mean I look like crap."

"No, I didn't say that. You just look like you could use a few more hours of sleep is all."

"We're not going to start the whole Nick conversation again, are we?"

"No, but you…um…said you were having panic attacks, so I was just worried that you might have had some more."

"No panic attacks, Greg. Just a crying baby."

"Is Ava sick?"

"Just of her father's taste in women. Guess who was waiting for us when I got home this morning?"

"Lady Heather?"

"Ding. Ding. Ding."

"Please tell me 'crying baby' isn't an euphemism for 'I killed Heather and dumped her body in the desert.'"

"It's not."

"Are you sure? Because if it is, and you need me to help you cover it up, you might want to tell me before we get called to her crime scene tonight."

"We won't get called to her crime scene, Greg. At least, I don't think we will."

"Okay, but just so you know, the offer's still on the table if we do."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Sara looked at him and started laughing.

"What's so funny? Do I have a booger hanging out of my nose or something?"

"No. I was just remembering my dream last night."

"Was I in it?"

"Actually, you were."

"Really."

"Calm down, Greg. It wasn't that type of dream. You and I broke into Heather's house and served her a cup of Drano for breakfast, and then you helped me make her death look like a suicide."

'Ah, Heathers. See. I told you the movie would be cathartic. Was strip croquet involved?"

"No."

"Too bad. If you ever feel like reenacting that scene, just let me know. I'm game."

"You never give up, do you?"

"No." Sara rolled her eyes and laughed at Greg. "You laugh now, but one day I'll wear you down. You'll see. There will come a day when you won't be able to resist my charms."

"If you say so, Greg."

Greg pulled into the parking lot of the Kit Kat Bar. "Ah, the Kit Kat Bar. I love this place. It's like Coyote Ugly, only without all the country music."

"Maybe you should try that strip croquet line on one of the bartenders."

"Who says I haven't already?"

Sara shook her head. "And you wonder why you're still single."

* * *

"Hey, Sofia. What are you doing here? Did Vegas finally run out of homicides?" Greg asked Sofia, when he and Sara walked into the bar and saw her talking to the uniformed officers.

"No, I wish. I was in the area and offered to take the call. Just between you and me, I got bored, but I don't want the paperwork gods to know it."

"They won't hear it from me," Greg said.

"Thanks. Hey, Sara."

"Hey, Sofia," Sara replied. "About earlier and that whole 'bite me' thing. I'm sorry. I was having a bad night."

"Don't worry about it. Brass explained about Florida. Is tonight going any better?"

"Not really."

"Sorry to hear it."

"So what do you have for us?"

"Two unidentified white males came in earlier tonight, pulled guns, ordered everyone on the ground, and then had the owner over there give them all the money in the register."

"Any chance they weren't wearing gloves?"

"The bouncer didn't remember any gloves when he checked their ID's. The owner said she was paying more attention to the guns than the hands around them."

"So we may or may not get prints based on whether they touched anything once they got in here."

"Any chance the bouncer remembered their names from the ID's?" Greg asked.

"No. He said he sees so many a night, all he remembers is if they're 21. They were."

"Well that narrows it. Two white guys over 21 in Vegas."

"I have the owner working with a sketch artist. Who knows? Maybe we'll get a hit." The owner Sofia had pointed out walked over to them. Sofia introduced them. "Sara, Greg, this is Kit Carson, the owner I was talking about. Ms. Carson, this is Greg Sanders and Sara Si-Sara Grissom from the crime lab."

They shook hands. "Kit Carson?" Greg asked.

"I know. I know. What can I say? Parents can be cruel," Kit told Greg. She then turned to Sara. "You look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?"

"I don't think so."

"Hmm. I could have sworn."

"Ms. Carson, did you happen to notice the two men before they pulled their guns?" Greg asked Kit.

"No, sorry. It was packed in here tonight. I was too busy helping my girls fill drink orders to notice."

"Did any of your bartenders notice them?"

"Not that they remember."

"So you don't know if the men touched anything between here and the door? Any tables? The bar? A beer bottle? Anything we could lift a fingerprint from?"

"No, I'm sorry. I wish I did."

"Do you have security cameras installed? I'm not seeing any in the obvious places."

"There should be a camera hidden behind the mirror behind the bar, another behind the exit sign, and one behind the Budweiser sign over there on the wall," Sara answered for Kit. Kit, Sofia, and Greg turned to Sara.

"How did you know that?" Sofia asked

"Lucky guess."

A look of realization came over Kit's face. "You used to work here, didn't you?"

"No, I…um…I think you have me confused with someone else."

"No, you did. Well, not here, but in one of my other bars. I never forget a face. New York? No, not New York. L.A. Your one of my L.A. girls, aren't you? "

"I…um…."

"You're in the new calendar, right? May? No, March. Hey, Sydney, bring me a copy of the calendar, will you?" One of the bartenders handed Kit the 2009 calendar. She flipped it to March. "Yep. There you are. Miss March." Kip flipped the calendar outwards so that the others could see the picture. "That is you, right?"

"Yeah, that's me," Sara answered, staring at the floor. Even though she was fully dressed in the photo, she was still embarrassed that Sofia and Greg had seen it. "It's airbrushed, but it's me."

"I knew it. You're the Sara Kat's always talking about. You have quite a following in L.A from what I hear. What are you doing here?"

"I guess you could say I went back to my day job, or night job if you want to get technical."

"Too bad. We could use someone like you around here. If this whole crime scene thing doesn't work out, give me a call."

"Thanks. Um, Kit, Ms. Carson, we're going to need to take a look at those tapes. Hopefully, they'll help us narrow down where to dust for the guys' fingerprints. Otherwise, with the amount of traffic you get in here, we'll be lifting fingerprints all night. We're also going to need to take them back to the lab with us, see if our tech guy can find a clear shot of their faces that he can enhance."

"Not a problem. Follow me."

As Greg and Sara followed Kit Carson to the back office, Greg asked Sara, "So you were really a Kitty Kat?"

"The tips were good, and I needed the money."

"And you have your own calendar?"

"It's not my calendar, Greg. I'm just a page in it, a very airbrushed page. Like I said, I needed the money."

"Can I get an autographed copy?"

"No, Greg, you can't."

"Meow."

"Shut up, Greg."

* * *

"So I guess we're fingerprinting from here to the door," Greg said to Sara, as he stood in front of the bar.

"Looks like. Mandy is going to love us."

"It could be worse. We could be fingerprinting the whole bar. How do you want to divide it up? Start at both ends and meet in the middle?"

"Fine by me. I guess I'll take the door." Sara started walking towards the door with her kit when the phone rang. She picked it up and answered it. "Hey, Nick, what's up?" Sara listened for a minute. "Okay, one of us will meet you there in a minute." Sara hung up and looked at Greg.

"Another call?"

"Yeah. You know that kid they put the Amber Alert out on this morning? Mary, um…"

"Mary Sullivan?"

"Yeah, her. Looks like they just found her. Nick needs one of us over there. Do you want to flip for it or do Rock, Paper, Scissors?"

"You can go."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'll catch a ride with Sofia when I'm done here."

"Okay. I'll see you back at the lab then." Sara started towards the door but stopped halfway there. She turned around and approached Greg. "You're not going to tell anyone that I was a Kitty Kat are you?"

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Greg."

"Seriously, Sara. It'll be our little secret."

"I'm going to hold you to that."

Once Sara left the building, Greg turned to Kit Carson and asked, "So how much does one of those calendars cost?"

* * *

Sara got in the SUV and laid her head against the steering wheel. Great, just great, she thought. Now everyone's going to know that I was dancing on bar tops while I was in L.A. She knew that she shouldn't be embarrassed; it was honest work, but she had never been comfortable doing it. Cameron and the Indy girls had taught her how to flare when she was on bed rest. She had found out that she had a natural talent for throwing bottles up in the air and catching them, but as for the dancing part…Well, she usually had to do a couple of shots first before she'd even get up on the bar. It was so unlike her to be up there. Cammie had told her to pretend that she was playing a part, to pretend that she was someone other than Sara Sidle, self-conscious Harvard grad and CSI. She had even come up with a name and bio for the pretend Sara. Sierra Siegel, a small town girl who ran away from her conservative upbringing the day she turned 18, driving to L.A. on the back of a Harley with some guy named Spike. Sierra liked tattoos, fast cars, and bad boys, not necessarily in that order, and she loved to dance. With enough alcohol, makeup, and clip-on hair extensions, Sara could almost make herself believe she was Sierra. Almost.

Like she told Greg, she needed the money, and the tips had been good. Some nights, they had been downright excellent. Maybe I needed the validation, too, Sara thought. When I was up there on that bar, and the male patrons were cheering me on, flirting with me, offering to buy me drinks, and slipping me their numbers with their tips, I felt pretty. More than that, I felt wanted. I didn't feel either of those things the night I saw Grissom with Heather. Isn't Dr. Young always telling me that I look for validation in inappropriate places? Maybe the Kit Kat Bar was such a place.

Sara sighed. She thought she had left that all behind. She had traded in Sierra Siegel, the Kitty Kat and Miss March, for Sara Sidle, the girl with the ponytail and a pair of latex gloves in her pocket. She trusted Greg to keep his word, but as for the uniforms and Sofia…well, she wasn't going to hold her breath that they wouldn't tell.

"I guess what happens in LA doesn't stay in LA," Sara said to herself and started the car. For once, she was going to be glad to process a dead body.


	34. Chapter 34

"I was hoping this case wouldn't turn out this way," Brass said to Nick, as they both looked down the manhole. Dave was working on the body of a deceased 12-year-old Mary Sullivan below.

"Unfortunately, they always seem to," Nick replied. "Hey, while we're waiting on Dave, I wanted to talk to you about something. Sara says you found Grissom in Florida."

"Yeah."

"Do you know where in Florida exactly? I was thinking of maybe taking a few vacation days, flying down there, having a little chat with Grissom. I tried calling, but he's not answering his cell, and his voice mail box is full."

"Don't bother."

"Why?"

"He's not there anymore. I ran his cards again earlier today; he flew out of Atlanta early this morning."

"To where?"

"San Francisco."

"So he's finally going after Sara?"

"Yeah, only now Sara's here, not there."

"Have you told her?"

"No, I didn't want to upset her. When I told her about Florida, she went on a good five to ten minute rant, the gist of which was that she hoped a great white would eat Gil and use his straw hat as a toothpick. I tell her about this, and she's likely to wish him right off the Golden Gate Bridge."

"You're just scared she'll do to you what she did to Lady Heather."

Brass laughed. "Yeah, that, too."

"So I guess I'll be driving to San Francisco then. How long of a drive is that? Five or six hours?"

"More like nine or ten."

"Okay, so maybe I'll take Air Tran."

"Don't worry about it. I've got it covered."

"You're already going?"

"To San Francisco? No. To L.A.? Yes. I figure if Gil asks the right questions, he'll end up there sooner or later, so I'm just going to head him off at the pass. That way, if anyone asks, I'm just going to L.A. to see my daughter. Who knows? Maybe I'll luck up and actually find Ellie while I'm there. Kill two birds with one stone. I'm going to leave Saturday morning after shift."

"You want some company?"

"Nah, just stay here and look after Sara. Make sure she doesn't decide to move to Timbuktu before I can get Gil back here."

"Will do. Speaking of," Nick said, nodding at the SUV that just pulled up. Sara got out of the vehicle and walked over to them. "So did you win or lose the coin toss?" Nick asked her.

"Neither. Greg wanted to stay. I think he was enjoying the scenery."

"Hot bartenders?" Nick asked.

"You guessed it. So where is she?"

"Down there," Brass said, nodding in the direction of the sewer. Sara walked over and looked down the manhole. "Poor kid. Do we know yet how she got down there? Pushed, pulled, carried?" she asked Nick and Brass, turning to them.

"No, not yet," Brass answered.

"Which means there could be fingerprints on the ladder, which in turn means we're not going to be able to use the ladder to get down there. We're going to have to walk in from another location, aren't we?"

"Unfortunately. There's another manhole a block over," Nick told Sara.

"Great. Have I mentioned lately how much I love my job?"

* * *

"Are you going to be okay going down there?" Nick asked Sara, as they pulled on their rubber coveralls and boots.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's dark down there, confined."

"You mean am I going to have a panic attack?" Sara looked down into the darkness. "Well, it's not a trunk, and it's not a parking garage. I should be okay. I think." She looked over at Nick. "Are you?"

He looked down as well. "Should be. I think. Only one way to find out. Lady's first," he said to Sara, holding his hand out in the direction of the manhole.

"Gee, thanks."

Sara climbed down the manhole, followed by Nick. Wading into the water, Nick asked Sara, "You good?"

Sara wrinkled up her nose, as she shone her flashlight on the water. "Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

They started walking in the direction of Dave and Mary Sullivan, their flashlights creating sweeping arcs of light in the darkness. "Well, I started out the night being told I look like crap. Now I'm getting to wade through it, and to think I went to college for this," Sara said to Nick.

"Oh, come on. You know you missed this, and technically, it's a storm sewer. There shouldn't be any crap in it."

"Tell that to the smell in here." A small, bloated, furry body floated past. Sara put a hand to her nose. "What was that?" she asked Nick.

"Dead rat or cat maybe. I'm not sure."

"Ooh," Sara said. She gulped loudly. "Whatever it was, it stunk. I guess I'm going to have get used to smelling death again."

"I've got some Vick's in my kit if you need it."

"No, I'm good. I just haven't smelled anything worse than a dirty diaper in nearly a year. I'd almost forgotten how bad it could be. I won't complain about the diapers anymore, that's for sure. So how did they find her down her?"

"Brass said some guy was out jogging with his dog, had his ipod turned up, wasn't paying any attention to the ground until he tripped over the manhole cover. Someone had moved it so it only partially covered the opening. Brass said the guy wanted to keep on jogging, but his dog wouldn't budge. He kept barking at something down below. The jogger finally looked down and saw Mary floating in the water."

"Those covers have got to weigh what? Eighty pounds?"

"Or more."

"There's no way a 12-year-old girl could have lifted that on her own, at least no 12-year-old girl I've ever met. She had to have some help."

"And it looks like that help was a brunette," Dave said, as Sara and Nick approached. He pointed at Mary's right hand. "Look at the hairs in her hand. She grabbed a handful coming down."

"She fell?" Nick asked Dave.

"Looks like it. Her neck's broken, and she has a fairly large contusion on the back of her head."

"How long ago?"

"From the condition of the body, I'd say at least 24 hours."

"But she wasn't reported missing until this morning," Sara said to Dave and Nick.

"She was supposed to be at a slumber party. The mother went to pick her up this morning, and the girls told her Mary had decided to leave the party in the middle of the night and walk home. The mom went home, checked Mary's room, and found her bed still made. That's when she called the police," Nick answered.

"The hairs look long. They could be from another girl. Did anyone question the girls from the party?"

"Brass said someone from missing persons did. The girls all told the same story. They were playing 'Truth or Dare.' Mary didn't like her dare, got mad, and went home."

"By herself in the middle of the night? Why didn't she just wake up the parents and ask them to take her home?"

"Who knows. Maybe she was too embarrassed to wake them up. Maybe she was so angry she wasn't thinking straight."

"Or maybe the girls are lying."

"You're liking the girls for this?"

"Why not?"

"They're twelve, Sara."

"So? This is Vegas, Nick. It's practically becoming the Village of the Damned. We see kids killing kids all the time in this job."

"But these are good kids."

"Why? Because their parents say so? Because they live in a nice house in a nice neighborhood? Go to a good school? I'm not saying they did this intentionally, Nick. I'm just saying this could be a dare or a prank gone wrong. One 12-year-old girl may not be able to move that manhole cover by herself, but several 12-year-old girls working together might."

"Yeah, but it could also be a long-haired pedophile who was in the right place at the right time."

"True. Only one way to find out." Sara took a picture of Mary's right hand before removing the hairs from her hand and bagging them. "We'll get these back to the lab and see if Wendy can get a hit off of CODIS while Brass talks to the kids and their parents. Hopefully, he'll be able to get their consent for a DNA sample."

"Hopefully. Do you want to do the ladder?"

"No, you go ahead. I'm so sleep deprived, I don't think I can print and climb at the same time. I'm content to stay down here, take pictures, and process all the crap that floats by."

* * *

Greg sat down on the bench in the locker room and took another look at the March section of the calendar he had bought at the Kit Kat Bar. Damn, Sara looks hot in that outfit, Greg thought, as he stared down at her picture. Airbrushed or not, the picture was a worthy trade for a sore back and a nose full of fingerprint dust. Now he just had to make sure Sara didn't find out about his little purchase.

Greg opened his locker and was putting the calendar on the top shelf when Hodges walked in. "What you got there?" Hodges asked him.

"Nothing," Greg said, quickly shutting the locker door.

"It didn't look like nothing. It looked like a calendar."

"Well, it's not one." Greg turned to Hodges and crossed his arms. "Is there something I can help you with, Hodges, or do you just like stalking people in the locker rooms? I heard you were stalking Catherine yesterday."

"First of all, I was not stalking Catherine. I simply followed her in here to offer her my condolences."

"Your very misplaced condolences. She didn't fire Sara. You lost the pool. Get over it already."

"I am over it. I'm here on a different matter." Hodges pulled out a swab. "I want your DNA."

Greg looked at the swab in Hodges's hand and shook his hand. "For what?"

"Well, there's only one way we're going to determine who wins the new pool. I'm going to need a DNA sample from all the potential daddies."

"And you think we're all going to cooperate and let you swab our mouths?"

"Your cooperation would be preferable, but if you refuse, I have other ways of getting your DNA. Your coffee cup. Your toothbrush. Your hairbrush."

"Stay out of my trash, Hodges, and out of my locker."

"Then give me a sample," Hodges said, waiving the swab in the air.

"Let's say for argument's sake that I give you a sample, as does Nick, Warrick, and every other guy on your list. How do you propose to get a sample from Ava? If you even think of getting within a mile of Sara's daughter, she's going to break every bone in your body--twice--and I'm going to help hold you down while she does it."

"I have my ways. Don't you worry. So are you going to open up or not?"

"Or not. Now get out of my way, Hodges. I've got to get these prints to Mandy."

Greg pushed past Hodges and left the locker room. Hodges waited a moment before turning the lock on Greg's locker. "I bet he thinks I don't know his combination. There's nothing that goes on around here that I don't know about," Hodges said to himself. He tried the locker's handle; the combination worked, and the door opened. "See. Sanders. Who's the smart one, now?"

As Hodges reached for Greg's brush on the top shelf, he knocked the Kit Kat Bar calendar to the floor. Hodges took a clump of hair from the brush and stuck it in a plastic bag that he had hidden in his pocket. He then leaned down to pick up the calendar, which had fallen open.

"I knew it was a calendar," Hodges muttered. He held up the calendar and looked at the woman on the page that was open. "Not bad. Not bad at all." He flipped through the pages quickly and stuck the calendar back on the top shelf. He then shut the door and was about to walk out of the room when what or whom he had just seen hit him. "Whoa. Wait a minute."

Hodges walked back to Greg's locker and unlocked it again. He then grabbed the calendar and flipped slowly through it. He stopped flipping when he got to the month of March. "Interesting. Very interesting," Hodges said to himself. He closed the calendar and shoved it in his lab jacket. "Wendy is going to love this."

* * *

"Fresh air at last," Nick said, as he and Sara emerged from the sewer.

Sara tried to shake the water from her shoes and coveralls. "Greg so owes me for this. The next time we get a scene that even remotely reeks, I'm pulling rank."

"Well you two smell good. What is that cologne called again? Eau de Sewage?" Brass asked.

"Funny. Very funny," Nick said. "You know, you could have gone down there with us, seeing as it was your crime scene and all."

"I could, but then I wouldn't have been able to coordinate the search of Lisa Alexander's apartment from up here. It's much easier to multitask when you can get a cell tower."

"Who's Lisa Alexander?" Nick asked.

"Our suspect from that double homicide earlier this week," Sara answered. "Did your guys find anything?" she asked Brass.

"No, nothing in the apartment. Apparently, she's been working around lawyers long enough to know that she shouldn't keep the bloody knife and clothes at home. I'm having her car towed to the lab. Hopefully, you'll have better luck than my guys did. Let me know, okay?"

"Okay," Sara said. Brass patted her on the back before heading to his car. Sara turned to Nick. "I should have never wished that this night would go slow. I completely jinxed us."

"Yes, you did."

Sara sniffed her shirt and then leaned over and sniffed Nick's. "We really do stink, don't we?"

"Yes. Yes we do."

* * *

"So tell me again why I'm helping you process this car?" Greg asked Sara. "It's not my case." The two of them were going over the front seat of Lisa Alexander's car with flashlights.

"Because I just spent the last few hours wading through nasty sewer water while you spent them enjoying eye candy at a bar."

"Oh, that." Greg sniffed the air. "It smells like bleach in here."

"Yeah, it looks like she wiped down the seats with it. Too bad they're not fabric. She would have had to use something else."

"It pretty much destroys our chances of getting any usable DNA, unless she missed a spot."

"Not to mention it's going to skew the luminol results. The whole car is going to fluoresce. It looks like she vacuumed, too. So much for trace."

"Not necessarily. She could have been in a hurry. I know I would have been if I was scared someone could walk by and see the blood at any minute."

"Yeah, but once she got the blood up, she could have taken her time vacuuming. Do you see anything?"

"Nothing obvious."

"Me either." Sara opened the console in between the front seats. "There's a pack of cigarettes in here. Maybe she had a cigarette afterwards to calm her nerves and used the car's cigarette lighter to light the cigarette. She might have forgotten to wipe it down with the bleach."

"Let's see." Greg carefully pulled out the lighter and showed it to Sara. A small smear of a brownish red substance appeared on the metal. "We've got a possible spot of blood." Greg swabbed the area and applied drops of ethanol, reduced phenolphthalein reagent solution, and hydrogen peroxide to the tip of the swab. The tip turned pink. "Make that an actual spot."

Sara held up another pink swab. "Looks like she missed another spot on the gear shift. Probably used the same hand. I'll get these to Wendy. Hopefully, the DNA will match Karen Wilson's."

"I'll vacuum and get the trace to Hodges. If she missed the blood, she's liable to have missed a few hairs, too."

"Thanks, Greg."

"No problem."

* * *

Nick caught up to Greg and Sara on their way to the locker room. "Y'all have any luck on the car?" he asked them.

"Some blood. Some trace. A lot of bleach. It's all up to Wendy and Hodges now," Sara told Nick.

"Speak of the devil," Greg said, as he walked into the locker room and saw Hodges at his open locker. "Hodges!" Greg yelled. Hodges pushed the calendar the rest of the way into the locker, stepped back, and threw up his hands. "What are you doing in my locker?"

"I told you I'd get a DNA sample," Hodges answered, covering up the real reason he'd broken into Greg's locker for a third time.

"A DNA sample?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, Hodges here wants a sample of my DNA to compare against Ava's. He says it's the only way to determine the 'who's your baby's daddy' pool. I told him no; apparently, he didn't take that no for an answer. He's cleaned the hairs off my brush," Greg said, looking at his brush and throwing it back into the locker. He grabbed his jacket, slammed the door shut, and turned to Nick. "You better check your locker, too, since you're the leading contender in the daddy pool."

Nick opened his locker and rummaged around in it. "My toothbrush is missing. Hodges!" he exclaimed, walking towards the lab technician.

Hodges backed around the bench, putting some distance between him and Nick. "Hey, I wouldn't have had to resort to thievery if you had all just cooperated. I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing this for the boss."

"Do you think this is what Grissom would want? For you to be breaking into our lockers, stealing our DNA, harassing his wife and daughter?" Nick asked, as he continued to advance on Hodges.

"If she is his daughter," Hodges retorted. "And do you think Grissom would want his so-called wife sleeping with half his team?" Hodges turned to Sara. "I told him to just let you go. He didn't listen, but he will. When he gets back and I show him the test results, he'll have no choice but to listen. Then who's going to be the golden boy around here? It won't be either of you," Hodges said to Nick and Greg. "And you won't be his star pupil anymore," he said, pointing to Sara. "You'll just be the mistake he wished he never made."

"Get out, Hodges! Now, or I promise you won't live long enough to show Grissom anything!"

"I'm going, but mark my words. She's history when the boss gets back."

Hodges left the locker room. Nick and Greg turned to Sara, who was sitting quietly on the bench, her bag in her lap. They sat down on either side of her.

"Sara, are you okay?" Greg asked. "I thought for sure you were going to get up and pummel him."

Sara didn't try to hide the tears that were falling down her face. "I…um…I had one of Ava's pacifiers in here. He took it."

"They're not that expensive, right? If they are, we'll get you another one," Greg offered.

"No, it's not that. It's just…" Sara started crying harder.

Nick put an arm around her. "It's just what, Sare?" he asked.

"He's right."

"No, he's not. We all know that Ava is Grissom."

"Not about that. About the mistake. I'm the mistake Grissom wishes he never made."

"That's ridiculous, Sara."

"Is it?" she asked, standing up and walking across the room.

Greg got up and followed her. "Yes, it is. Hodges is full of it. He always has been. It's the reason they kicked him out of L.A., and sooner or later--preferably, sooner--it'll be the reason he gets kicked out of here. You can't listen to anything he says."

"Even when he's right?"

"He's not right, Sara."

"If he's not, then why isn't Grissom here?"

Nick sat on the bench, debating whether to tell Sara the real answer to that question. Seeing the devastated look on Sara's face, he decided to go against Brass's advice and tell her about San Francisco. He stood up and walked over to Sara. "Sara, there's something I need to tell you."

"No, Nick. Whatever it is, I don't want to hear it. I've heard enough for one night. I just want to go home and go to sleep." She pushed past Nick and Greg and went out the locker room door.

Nick followed her into the hall. "Sara, wait."

"No. I just want to go home." Sara hurried down the hall, nearly knocking Dave over in the process.

"What's wrong with her?" Dave asked Nick and Greg.

"Hodges," they answered in unison.

"Figures. That's one lab rat that needs to get his tail stuck in a trap."

"Tell us about it."

* * *

Grissom arrived at the Northern Precinct at exactly 9 a.m. He didn't want to waste anymore time, nor did he want to risk Michael Barrett being called to a crime scene before he could speak to him. He went into the precinct and saw the officer he spoke to the previous afternoon.

"Officer Spencer is it?"

"Yes, sir," the officer answered.

"I'm Gil Grissom. We spoke yesterday about Michael Barrett."

"Yes, sir. Detective Barrett is expecting you. If you could just hold on a minute." The officer picked up the phone and dialed an extension. "Detective Barrett, this is Officer Spencer up front. Mr. Grissom is here to see you." The officer was quiet a minute, as he listened to the detective's response. "Yes, sir, I'll tell him." The officer hung up the phone and turned to Grissom. "Detective Barrett will be right out. If you'll just have a seat."

Grissom sat in one of the chairs and waited for Michael Barrett. A few minutes later, an angry looking man walked into the lobby and up to Grissom. Grissom stood up. "Michael Barrett?" he asked the man.

"Yeah," the man said.

Grissom extended his hand. Michael Barrett looked down at his hand in disgust. "I'm Gil Gr--."

"I know who you are. I'm not having this discussion in here with you. Come on," Michael said. He opened the door and walked outside. Grissom followed him, perplexed by the man's anger.

"You know, you have some nerve coming here after what you've done," Michael Barrett told Grissom. "It wasn't enough that you and Sara finally decided to grow up and be parents after eight years. It wasn't enough that you had Sara come and take my son away. No, I'm sorry, your son. Sure, I'm the one who raised him for seven years while you and Sara were off playing CSI. Sure, I was the only functioning parent he had even when Sara was here, but does any of that matter? No, because he has your DNA, not mine, but, hey, apparently that's not enough for you either, just like it wasn't enough for you and Sara to send Ritchie up here to blackmail me into signing away all legal rights to him. No, you have to show up here today, all by yourself, to what? Gloat? To rub it in that you now have my family? What? Why are you here?"

Grissom stared at Michael Barrett in shock, his mind still trying to process what the man just said. "I'm sorry, but what did you just say?" he asked Michael.

"I said 'Why are you here?'" Michael repeated.

"No, before that."

"I said it wasn't enough that you and Sara had Ritchie come up and here and blackmail me into signing away my legal rights."

"No, before that."

"I said…" Michael stopped and took a minute to register the shock on Grissom's face. "You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

"I…um…I…," Grissom attempted to answer.

"She lied to you, too." Michael Barrett shook his head in amazement. "Why am I not surprised? That entire family's nothing but a bunch of liars." Michael pulled his wallet out of his pocket, took out a picture, and handed it Grissom. Grissom looked down and saw his own face, only much younger, staring back at him. "Gil Grissom, meet your son Connor. Your nine-year-old son Connor."


	35. Chapter 35

Michael Barrett sat down across from Grissom and handed him a beer and a calendar. After Michael had realized that Grissom knew nothing about Connor, he had offered to buy him a drink, and Grissom had accepted the offer. Michael took him to San Francisco's Kit Kat Bar. He wanted Grissom to see the calendar. He wanted him to understand the type of woman Sara had become.

"Take a look at Miss March," Michael told Grissom.

Grissom took a swig of beer and pushed the calendar across the table. "Thanks, but I'm not in the mood for calendar girls."

Michael pushed it back. "You will be for this one. Trust me."

Grissom sighed, opened up the calendar to the third month, and saw the picture of his wife. "Sara," Grissom mumbled under his breath. He took another swig of beer.

"I told you that you'd want to see it. I should have known when I saw her in her little layout there that there was no way she told you about Connor."

"Yeah, and why's that?"

"A guy like you, you've got a Ph.D. You're a world-renowned entomologist. You're a supervisor at one of the best crime labs in the nation. There's no way you'd let the mother of your child do that," Michael said, nodding in the direction of the bar. At the moment, one bartender was pouring a pitcher of water on another bartender, while Def Leppard blared in the background.

Grissom looked over at the women and shook his head. "Sara would never do that."

"Maybe you don't know Sara as well as you think you do. They don't just put anybody in these calendars, you know."

"No, I don't know. Apparently, I don't know much of anything these days."

" 'The more I know, the more sure I am that I know so little…' "

" 'The eternal paradox,' " Grissom said, finishing the quote. Grissom closed the calendar, picked up the picture of Connor, and sighed. Apparently, I don't know my wife at all, he thought, or my son.

"So she really didn't tell you anything about him?" Michael asked, nodding at the picture.

"No, she didn't."

"That doesn't surprise me. Hell, if Ritchie hadn't slipped up and said that there was no Grandpa Gilbert, I would still think Connor was mine."

"I'm sorry. Grandpa Gilbert?"

"Gilbert. It's Connor's middle name. When Connor was born, I wanted to name him after my grandfather. Sara said fine, so long as we also named him after hers. Turns out she had no Grandpa Gilbert, just…"

"Me."

"Yeah. I never heard her or Ritchie mention the name before, not even when we were kids, but at the time I didn't think anything of it. Anyway, one day the name came up in conversation, and Ritchie admitted that neither of their grandfathers' names was Gilbert, so I started digging around and found your emails to Sara."

"You hacked into Sara's email account?"

Michael shrugged. "You say hack; I say sign in when she's not around. It's Sara's own fault. She shouldn't have used her mother's name as her password. Had she used something a little harder to guess, I may have never found them. Anyway, I did a little more digging and found out about the night the two of you spent together at the Marriott. It wasn't too hard after that. I did the math. I misspoke, by the way, earlier when I said he was nine. He actually won't be nine until October 15. You know kids. They like to round up. You spend enough time around them, and you start doing the same thing. Anyway, Connor was born in October, nine months after the Forensic Academy Conference. I had a buddy at the lab do a DNA test to confirm my suspicions. Connor wasn't mine, which means he had to be yours."

"But you kept him."

"I didn't have a choice. Like I said back at the precinct, I'm the only functioning parent Connor has ever had. Even before Sara ran off to Vegas, she was hardly a mother to that boy. When she wasn't at work, she was at home in bed. She would stay there all day long, crying or just staring at the wall. She stopped having anything to do with her friends. She hardly had anything to do with me, and we lived in the same house, and I had to practically force her to hold Connor."

"Sounds like post-partum depression."

"That's what Sara said, but if you ask me, post-partum depression was just an excuse. Just like her mother was an excuse, and her father was an excuse, and growing up in foster care was an excuse. I take it she didn't tell you about any of that either."

"Actually, she did. She told me her mother killed her father."

"Really?" Michael asked. Grissom nodded. "I'm surprised. She hardly ever even talked about her childhood to me, and I lived right next door, or at least I did until the state shipped her and Ritchie off to foster care. Anyway, like I was saying, if you ask me, they were all just excuses Sara used to cover up the fact that she just couldn't hack it as a mother. Hell, she couldn't get out of here fast enough when you called her with that job offer. After that, she would only visit a couple of times a year. She'd stay just long enough to get my--your son's hopes up that his mother was going to stick around this time. Of course she never did, and then I was left picking up the pieces. Connor used to cry himself to sleep at night for weeks after one of Sara's visits."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's not your fault; it's Sara's. You're just as much a victim of her lies as I am. That night you spent together--did Sara even bother to mention that she was living with someone at the time?"

"No."

"And I take it my name has never come up since?"

"No, sorry."

"Figures. So you worked with her on a daily basis for over seven years. At some point, you move in together and get married, and not once does she mention that the two of you have a son?"

"Not once."

"Did she ever even raise the issue of having kids?"

"No. The only thing we ever talked about was getting a dog."

Michael laughed but stopped when he saw the serious look on Grissom's face. "I'm sorry, man. I know it's not funny, but you've either got laugh about it or put your fist through a wall. Laughing is the less painful option of the two."

" 'Even in laughter the heart is sad, and the end of joy is grief,' " Grissom replied, before downing the rest of his beer.

"Hmm, okay. When you put it that way. You're going to need another one of those, aren't you?" Michael asked, pointing at the beer.

"Oh, yeah."

* * *

_"We need to talk," Sara told Michael when he opened the door._

_"How was your visit with your mom?" Michael asked, allowing Sara into the apartment they had once shared._

_"How do you think?" Sara asked, not expecting an answer. She had just gotten back from seeing her mother in prison. Things hadn't gone well, and she didn't feel like getting into the details with Michael. She just wanted to get to the point._

_"Where's Connor?"_

_"In his room. Why?"_

_"I'm taking him home with me, Michael."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_"You heard me. I'm taking my son home."_

_"Like hell you are. I have custody, in case you've forgotten."_

_"I haven't forgotten. Neither has my attorney. She's filing an emergency motion with the court as we speak. I bet the judge who signed off on that order will be real interested to know that I was in a courtroom in Las Vegas, testifying in a rape case, at the same time your buddy in the sheriff's department claims he served me with your petition for custody and hearing notice. I bet he'll also be real interested to know that you knew even then that Connor wasn't yours."_

_"My name is on the birth certificate. That makes me his legal father until proven otherwise."_

_"You and I both know you've already done that, but as for the courts…My lawyer will be petitioning for a DNA test, so get ready to say 'Ah.'"_

_Michael shook his head at Sara, his face reddening in anger. "You're a real piece of work, you know that, Sara? You go years without seeing Connor, and then you show up here begging me to let you see him, and I let you out of the goodness of my heart…"_

_Sara laughed at Michael's comment. "What heart?" she retorted._

_Michael glared at her. "I let you come in. I let you see Connor. I let you stay here and cry on my shoulder about your precious kidnapping. I don't ask for anything in return…"_

_"You mean for once you didn't make me play your little sex games in exchange for seeing my son."_

_Michael walked closer to Sara, clenching his fists. "I don't ask for anything, and a week later this is how you repay me? You come in here making idle threats about taking away my son."_

_"They're not idle threats, Michael. It's what's going to happen, and he's not your son. He's my son. Mine and my husband's."_

_"So that's what this is about? You finally told Gilbert Grape about Connor, and now the old man wants the three of you to be one big happy family? I should have known this wasn't about you finally wanting to be a mother."_

_"First of all, his last name is Grissom, not Grape. And second of all, I've always wanted to be Connor's mother. You were the one constantly telling me that I couldn't be, that I was too much like my mother, that I was a danger to my own son."_

_"Was I wrong, Sara?" Michael asked, grabbing Sara by the arms. "Is that why you went to see Laura today? To try to convince yourself that you're nothing like her? That you're not going to wake up one day and decide to slice and dice your husband and your son? That Connor's classmates aren't going to make up a nursery rhyme about you, like ours did about Laura? You do remember what the kids used to sing to you and Ritchie, don't you?"_

_"Go to hell," Sara said, as she tried to pull lose from Michael's grip. Michael tightened his hold on Sara's arms._

_"Oh, come on, Sara. How can you forget that song? 'Laura Sidle got a knife. She cut her husband and ended his life. She stabbed him in the heart and head, until his blood soaked the walls and bed. She cut and cut until the cops were called; then off to jail Laura was hauled. If you ever find Laura by your bed, you better run or you'll too be dead.'" _

_"I didn't forget it," Sara said, as she finally yanked her arms loose. "You know, there used to be a time when you would beat up anyone who sang that to me or Ritchie. What the hell happened to you?"_

_"I grew up and realized the song had merit. Besides, it's kind of catchy, don't you think? Kind of like 'Lizzie Borden got an ax. Gave her mother 40 whacks.'"_

_"You're disgusting. I can't believe I ever actually thought I loved you." _

_"The feeling's mutual."_

_Sara tried to walk around Michael to Connor's bedroom, but Michael blocked her path. "Get out of my way, Michael. I'm getting my son."_

_"No, you're not," Michael said, as he punched Sara in the face. _

_Sara fell over backwards, hitting her head on the corner of the coffee table on the way down. Sara reached up and felt the blood on the back of her head. "You bast--," she managed to mutter before Michael kicked her in the stomach. Sara curled up on her side, clutching her stomach, as Michael kicked her in the back. Sara screamed and tried to crawl away, but Michael grabbed a handful of her hair and dragged her back to him. He then flipped her on her back, sat on top of her, and pinned her arms above her head with one hand while he ripped her shirt open with the other._

_"So let's talk about those sex games," Michael said. He leaned down to kiss Sara. When he forced his tongue inside her mouth, Sara bit him. Michael sat up, spitting out blood. "You bitch," he called her and hit her in the face again. "That's going to cost you." He raised his arm back to hit her a third time when he felt his arm being grabbed. _

_"Don't hit my mother," Connor said. The child held onto Michael's arm and kicked him in the side in an effort to get him off of Sara. Michael shoved Connor off of him._

_"Go to your room, son. Your mom and I have some catching up to do."_

_"No. You're not my father. You can't tell me what to do."_

_Michael looked down at Sara in disbelief. "So that's what the two of you were talking about on your little trip to the beach the other day?" he asked. When Sara didn't answer him, he turned to Connor. "If I tell you to do something, boy, you do it. Now go to your room."_

_"No," Connor said, kicking him again. Michael slapped Connor, knocking him to the floor. Connor started to cry. "I hate you!" he yelled at Michael._

_Michael crawled off of Sara and stood up. "It looks like I'm going to have to teach your son a little lesson about respect," Michael told Sara. He started to take off his belt as he walked over to Connor. Sara, meanwhile, crawled over to her purse, grabbed it, and stood up._

_"You really shouldn't have done that," Sara said._

_"And what are you going to do about it?" Michael asked, turning to her._

_"This," Sara answered. She raised the taser gun and fired._

Sara's alarm clock went off, and she sat up in bed. Her clothes and sheets were stuck to her with sweat. Sara peeled off the sheets and went into the bathroom, where she splashed water on her face. The water, however, did nothing to stop the wave of nausea that had hit her, so Sara turned around to the toilet and vomited what little food she had managed to eat before she had fallen asleep.

She had not dreamed about Michael for awhile. Sara guessed she had Hodges to thank for tonight's trip down memory lane. He had said she was a mistake. Michael had said that, too. In fact, he had said it a lot, whenever he had run out of other insults to throw at her, like the quips about her parents, about her ability to be a good parent, about anyone ever loving her. Sara sat down on the floor and pulled her knees to her chest.

She wasn't surprised the first time Michael had hit her. She wasn't even disappointed. Instead, all she could remember thinking was, "Finally." That was the only kind of love she knew, the only kind of family. Until she met Grissom at the Forensic Academy Conference, she had always figured that her life would end up one of two ways. She would either spend it alone, or she would end up like her mother, in love with a man like her father. For awhile, the latter was exactly what had happened, but now…Well, now she supposed her life was following the former path. Here she was alone, sitting on a cold bathroom floor, trying not to dry-heave, while her husband was in Florida, doing God-knows what with God-knows whom.

Hank walked into the bathroom, wagging his tail. "Hey, boy," Sara said to him and scratched his head. Hank returned the affection by licking her face. "You wouldn't be licking my face if you knew what I had done." Hank licked her cheek again, and Sara started to cry.

Hannah had been right about the night she spent in the desert. Sara's life had flashed before her eyes. As she laid under that car, she had remembered more than just her father's murder. She had remembered the night that she had spent with Grissom in San Francisco. The panic that she had felt weeks later when she found out that she was pregnant. The first time that she had held Connor in her arms and realized that he was Grissom's son, not Michael's. The constant fear that Michael would find out and what he would do to her and Connor when he did. The equally crippling concern that she would turn into her parents and be the one who would actually harm her son. The relief that she felt when Grissom finally asked her to come to Las Vegas, followed by the devastating realization that he wanted nothing more from her than a working relationship. The numerous times that she had worked up the courage to tell Grissom about Connor, only to have him reject her before she could even get the words out of her mouth. The moments that she had missed in her son's life and the price that Michael had made her pay for the ones that she hadn't missed. The day that she finally gave up on the dream that she, Connor, and Grissom would be a family and the day that she resigned herself to the fact that Connor was better off without her. The months of drinking that followed. Brass and Grissom trying to get her to stop, but neither of them realizing why she had started in the first place.

Sara had remembered it all, not that she had ever forgotten. Rather, since coming to Vegas, she had tried to so immerse herself in her job, to volunteer for so many cases and to work so many extra hours, that she didn't have the time or energy to think about those things. Tried, however, was the operative word because no matter how hard Sara had tried, no matter how much she had worn herself out at work, no matter how exhausted she had been when she got home, she still had thought about those things. She still had thought about her son.

Sara had told herself if she managed to survive the night, if she managed to get out from under that car and out of the desert, she would finally tell Grissom the truth about Connor. More than that, she would finally get her son back from Michael. Then she had gotten out from under the car and out of the desert, and she had done none of those things. She had opened her eyes and seen Grissom smiling down at her, and she had lost the nerve to tell him the truth. She hadn't known what to say to him about Connor. She still didn't know. How was she supposed to tell the man she loved that she had been lying to him for the last 10 years? How did she tell him that he has a son he's never met, a son she walked out on years ago?

Sara knew that she could dress the situation up anyway she wanted to when she finally talked to Grissom about Connor. She could blame what she did on her lousy childhood. She could blame it on Michael's abuse and the post-partum depression that she suffered after Connor was born. She could even blame Grissom for all the times he rejected her, but at the end of the day it didn't change the truth. Sara had abandoned her son. She had run away from Connor the same way she had run away from Ritchie all those years ago, the same way she had run away from Grissom, her friends, and her job last year. When it came down to it, Sara knew she had only one person to blame for what she had done--herself--and that realization was the hardest part of all.

She was trying to make up for it. She had gotten her son back. After tasering Michael, she had taken a clue from Natalie and had tied Michael's hands and feet with plastic ties, dragged him into the nearest closet, and wedged one of the kitchen chairs under the door knob. She had then picked her son off the floor, and together the two of them had thrown his things into a bag and gotten the hell out of there. Sara's left eye was nearly swollen shut by the time they got to the car, and the vision in her right eye was so blurry that she was scared to drive to Los Angeles on her own, so she had driven to a women's shelter that she had worked with in the past and asked for help. She knew that this particular shelter had ways of helping women disappear, especially when the system wouldn't help them. She also knew that Michael knew how to work that system and that she didn't have much time before he got out of the closet and came after her. She had gotten a shelter employee to drive her car to L.A., while she held Connor in the back seat.

She remembered what it had been like to knock on Ritchie's door after all those years. He had opened the door, taken one look at Sara's battered face, and put his arms around her. Sara had started to cry and let all the animosity she had had towards him--the ill will she had felt for him not being there the night their father died and for him leaving her in foster care--wash away with her tears. Ritchie had set her and Connor up in a hotel room under an assumed name, while he went to San Francisco and had a little "talk" with Michael. He had threatened to expose Michael's dirty dealings in the SFPD if he didn't sign away any legal rights he had to Connor. Ritchie had claimed that all he had to do was show his former partner and childhood best friend a copy of the file of evidence that he had amassed against him and Michael had signed on the dotted line. Sara, however, had a feeling that Ritchie may have used his fists to persuade him as well. A part of her hoped that he had, but another part--the part of her that knew that the last thing her brother wanted to be was like their father--hoped that he hadn't.

When Ritchie got back to L.A., he had moved Sara and Connor into his guest room and taken care of them. Then Sara had found out that she was pregnant again and decided that it was time to go home. She had left Connor with her brother on New Year's Eve. She hadn't wanted to. She had promised Connor that no one was ever going to split them up again, but she knew that when she saw Grissom and told him about Connor that there would be a fight, and her son had seen enough fights to last him a lifetime. In light of what she had seen that night, she was grateful that she had left Connor in L.A. His first image of his father should not have been of him in bed with another woman.

Sara had left Connor again for the same reason when she returned to Vegas last week. She had thought Grissom would be here, and she didn't want Connor to hear the things that would be said. Ava was too young to understand what was going on, but Connor wasn't. It was killing her, having him so far away, and she knew it was killing him. Sara got off the floor and washed her face again. It was time to talk to her son, and she didn't want him to know she had been crying.

* * *

"Mom, guess what," Connor said, as his face filled Sara's computer screen.

God, he looks so much like his father, Sara thought, as she stared at his image. "What, baby?" she asked him, as she turned her face to the web camera.

"Mrs. Patterson brought cupcakes for my last day, and everyone signed a good-bye card."

"That was really nice of them. Were the cupcakes good?"

"Yep, and guess what else."

"What?"

"I made a 100 on my spelling test."

"You did?"

"Yep. Look," Connor said, holding the test up to his web cam. A red 100 and a smiley face marked the top of the page.

"That's awesome, baby. It's a good thing we went over the words last night, huh?"

"Yep. If I had gone over them with Aunt Cam, I would have gotten an F. She can't spell at all."

"I heard that," Cameron said, as she walked behind Connor and ducked down so that her face entered the screen. "Hi, Sara," she said, waving.

"Hi, Cam," Sara said, waving back. "Did you misspell cat again?"

"No. I know how to spell cat. K-A-T. Kat."

"See, Mom, I told you she couldn't spell."

Cameron ruffled Connor's hair. "That was a joke, Connor. I know how to spell cat. It's C-A-T."

"Don't believe her, Mom. She cheated and used Spell Check."

"I did not. Hey, Sara, have I told you lately that your kid's a total brat?" Cameron asked, as she nudged Connor out of the desk chair.

"I am not," Connor whined and nudged her right back out.

"You are, too. You saw him just push me out of the chair, didn't you?"

"You pushed me first."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. I bet you can't even spell brat."

"Sure I can. C-O-N-N-O-R."

"Wrong. It's C-A-M-E-R-O-N."

"Funny. Your son's a regular comedian, Sare. You know there's only one way to settle this, don't you?"

"Rock, Paper, Scissors?" Sara asked.

"Seriously, Mom, no one does that anymore," Connor told Sara.

"Yeah, seriously, Mom, that's like so five minutes ago," Cameron added, in her best Valley Girl voice.

"Really? Well thanks for making me feel so old. So what are you talking about then?"

"PlayStation 2. Duh, Mom."

"Yeah, duh, Mom. Best 2 out of 3 wins," Cameron added.

"You're so going down, Aunt Cam."

"I am not."

"You are, too."

"We'll see, but right now the only place I'm going is work. Bye, Sare."

"Bye, Cam."

"Bye, brat," Cameron told Connor, messing his hair up again.

After Cameron left, Sara asked Connor, "Are you going to let her win at least one game?"

Connor shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Well, don't keep her up all night playing, okay? She's got to drive you out here tomorrow."

"We're still coming?"

"Of course."

"I thought maybe you changed your mind," Connor said, looking down at the desk.

"Why would you think that?" Sara asked.

Connor shrugged in response but still wouldn't look up at the camera. "I don't know," he mumbled under his breath.

"I thought you understood why I didn't bring you out here sooner."

"I do. Because you were scared you and my real father would get into an argument, and you didn't want me to hear it."

"That's right."

"He still not there, is he?"

"No, baby, he's not."

"But you still want me?"

"Of course, I still want you." Connor continued to stare down at the desk. "Connor, honey, look at me." Connor shook his head. "Connor Gilbert…," Sara said more sternly. Connor finally looked up at web cam. Sara could see the tears on his cheeks. "Look, baby. I know I messed up in the past. I know I let you down more times than I count, but that's over now. I promise you that, no matter what happens with your father, you, me, and Ava, we're going to be a family. No matter what, nobody is going to split us up. Okay?" Connor chewed on his lower lip but wouldn't answer Sara. "Okay, Connor?" Sara repeated.

"Okay, Mommy."

"Mommy? Wow, you haven't called me that in awhile."

"I know. Don't tell anyone, okay? They'll laugh at me." Connor sniffed and wiped his face with his shirt.

"I won't. You know what?"

"What?"

"Forget what I said about letting Aunt Cam win a game. You should beat her on all three."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay, but she's going to be mad."

"She'll get over it. And Connor?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"I love you."

"I love you, too."


	36. Chapter 36

"Look who's up," Sara said to her daughter, as she leaned over her crib. Ava smiled up at her. "Mommy's so glad you didn't cry all night like you did last night. I bet you're pretty glad, too, huh? I know Rachel's going to be glad. She looked a little frazzled when Mommy came home this morning. I think you almost made the poor girl quit."

Sara scooped up Ava and checked her diaper. "Whoa, that's foul. You definitely need changing. I know. I know. I told your Uncle Nick that I wasn't going to complain about the smell of dirty diapers anymore, but that one is pretty bad. Yes, it is, so just don't tell Uncle Nick, okay? He's liable to pull an Aunt Catherine and give Mommy a decomp just to prove a point, and Mommy really doesn't want that. No, she doesn't."

Sara laid Ava down on the changing table and continued to talk to her. "So guess who's coming tomorrow? Your brother Connor. I bet he missed you. Did you miss him? I bet you did. Little sisters always miss their big brothers, even if they won't admit it. Trust me. Mommy knows this from experience. Now Mommy's just got to figure out how she's going to tell people that you have a big brother and that she's pretty much been lying to them for the last eight years. Yes, she does."

As Sara changed Ava's diaper, she thought back to the day that she decided to come home and tell Grissom about Connor and Ava. She had been laying in bed, crying, when Ritchie knocked on the bedroom door.

_"Sara, can I come in?" Ritchie asked from the hallway._

_Sara sat up in bed and wiped the tears from her eyes and cheeks. "Sure. It's your house," she responded._

_Ritchie opened the door, came into the bedroom, and sat down next to Sara. "How are you doing?" he asked Sara_

_"How do you think?"_

_"Not so good?"_

_"You thought right." Sara looked past him into the hallway. "It's quiet out there. Where's Connor?"_

_"Cammie took him to see 'Alvin and the Chipmunks.' I think Connor's developed a little crush on her."_

_"Well, I'm not surprised. They're both at the same reading level."_

_"Sara…"_

_"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Cammie seems like a very nice girl. A little vapid, but nice."_

_"She is nice, Sara, and just because she didn't go to Harvard like some people, doesn't mean she's stupid. She has a degree from USC, you know."_

_"In what, cosmetology?"_

_"No. In psychology."_

_"Great. So she's blonde and a shrink. That makes me feel just so much better about her."_

_"Come on, Sara. You don't see me insulting your choice in significant others, do you?"_

_"No. Look, I'm sorry, okay? Here's some psychology for you. When I get upset, I use sarcasm as a coping mechanism. There, I admitted it. I'm a sarcastic, blonde-hating screwed-up bitch.. What more do you want from me? A handwritten apology? Some flowers? A heart tattoo that says 'I love my brother's girlfriend. Really I do.'?"_

_"I'd settle for you coming out of this room. You've barely left it in the last two days. When was the last time you ate something?"_

_Sara shrugged. "I don't remember."_

_"You've got to eat, Sara."_

_"I'm not hungry."_

_"Yeah, well I bet your baby is."_

_Sara looked down at her stomach. "Fine. I'll eat something then. Happy now?"_

_"No, and neither are you. I'm worried about you, Sara. So is Connor."_

_"He said that?"_

_"He didn't have to. A couple of weeks ago, he watched the man he thought was his father beat up his mother, and then two days ago, his mother is rushed to the hospital after passing out in front of him. Of course he's worried."_

_"I'll talk to him about it when he gets back from the movies then."_

_"There's something else you should probably talk to him about. He knows about what happened to you in the desert."_

_"What? How?"_

_"He googled you. Apparently, he's been doing that for sometime." _

_"Why?"_

_"He told Cameron that he'd been saving up his lunch money so he could buy a bus ticket and come see you."_

_"He was going to run away?"_

_"Looks like it."_

_"To find me?"_

_"He missed you, Sara. Kids need their mother."_

_"You think I don't know that?" Sara shook her head. "He's just eight, Ritchie. Do you have any idea what could have happened to him?"_

_"I'm a homicide detective. I think I have some clue."_

_"My eight-year-old son was going to run away to Las Vegas because I ran away from him first. Unreal." Sara started to cry again. "And the award for Worst Mother of the Year goes to…Sara Sidle. And here I am about to bring another life into this world. How ironic is that?"_

_"So you've decided to keep the baby?"_

_"Yes. No. I don't know. I guess I need to talk to Grissom first. I guess he should get a vote."_

_"So you still haven't called him?"_

_Sara shook her head. "I keep picking up the phone. I just can't bring myself to dial his number."_

_"Why?" Sara shrugged in response and looked down at the bed. "Look, Sara, don't take this the wrong way. I've never met the guy, and I don't know anything about him other than what you've told me, but based on your past experiences with men…Has this Grissom person ever hit you? Is that why you're scared to call him?"_

_"No, he's never hit me."_

_"Do you think he would?"_

_"No. Grissom isn't like that. He's…a gentle soul."_

_"So then why are you so scared?"_

_"I don't know. I guess I'm afraid he's going to leave me. I told him once that my life with him was the only real home I've ever had. I don't want to lose that."_

_"And you really think he's going to leave you just because you're pregnant?"_

_Sara shrugged again. "He's not exactly what you'd call a people-person, Ritchie. He's good with books and bugs and science experiments. He's not so good with kids. I don't even know how he's going to react to having one child, let alone two. And what exactly am I supposed to say? Hey, Gil, you remember that one-night stand we had nine years ago? Yeah. Well, guess what. Nine months after that, I gave birth to our son, and I've been lying to you about it ever since. And guess what else. I'm pregnant again. Surprise!"_

_"I guess that's one way of saying it, although technically you didn't really lie to him about it. You just…didn't tell him everything."_

_"I don't think he's going to see it that way."_

_"Maybe you shouldn't call him then. Maybe you should just go talk to him in person. Cam and I can watch Connor while the two of you work things out."_

_"I don't know. Maybe." Sara started to cry again. "What if something's wrong with the baby? What am I supposed to tell him then?"_

_"What? Why would something be wrong?"_

_"Michael kicked me in the stomach, Ritchie. He kicked me hard. What if he damaged it somehow?"_

_"He didn't."_

_"How do you know? Are they handing out medical degrees at the police academy now?"_

_"No. I know because this kid is a Sidle. We're survivors, remember?"_

_"Yeah, well that's something to be proud of, being a Sidle. A family that comes with it's own theme song, courtesy of Grandma. 'Laura Sidle got a knife. She cut her husband and ended his life.' I know I'm oh so proud of that."_

_"Sara, I'm serious."_

_"So am I."_

_"Look, Sara. Everything's going to be okay. I promise. That's all you have to tell him and yourself."_

While Ritchie was out picking her up a veggie burger, Sara had thought about what her brother had said and decided that he was right. She did need to talk to Grissom in person, so a few days later she had packed up the car and come home. Only Ritchie hadn't been right. Everything hadn't been okay. That kick to her stomach had nearly cost Sara her daughter. For awhile, Sara had thought that it was what she deserved. She had walked away from one child, so it was only fitting that she would lose another. As for Grissom and Heather, well…quite frankly, Sara believed that she deserved that, too. It was a fair trade for nearly a decade worth of lies.

Sara picked Ava up from the changing table. "So do you have any ideas on how Mommy is supposed to tell people? Nope? Neither does Mommy. Maybe I should just send an anonymous email to Hodges and let him do it for me. He doesn't seem to have a problem opening his big fat mouth. What do you think? Do you think telling Hodges is a bad idea? Yeah, me, too. I guess I'll have to come up with something else then."


	37. Chapter 37

Grissom was back at the Marriott, working his way through the hotel room mini bar. He knew he had resolved to stop drinking, but that had been before Michael Barrett's little revelation, before he had found out that the last ten years of his life had been a lie. The two beers he had drunk at the bar had not been strong enough to provide him with the clarity he so desperately needed or the oblivious comfort of inebriation that he did not need but desperately wanted. He planned on drinking until he obtained one of the two.

Grissom took one of the small bottles and sat down on the bed. The room that had given him so much comfort the night before now made him nauseous. The room was where it all began, a decade of lies and deception. Grissom looked around the room, confused by his memories of Sara. They had used protection that night. He remembered that Sara had brought it with her. He didn't remember anything breaking or slipping off. He didn't remember seeing any holes. So how had this happened to them? Okay, he knew how it had happened. He was a scientist after all. He had stopped believing in the stork and the cabbage patch a long time ago. Maybe the better question was why it had happened. Why had Sara lied to him? Why hadn't she told him that they had a son?

Grissom remembered the day that Sara had come to Las Vegas. He had turned around at the crime scene, and there she had been, smiling at him from the sidelines. He had told her that he had so many unanswered why's, and she had answered that the only why that mattered was why Warrick had left Holly alone. He knew now that Sara had been lying even then. There had been a much bigger and far more important why between them, a why whose birthday was coming up soon.

Grissom still couldn't believe it. He had an eight-year-old son out there and possibly another child--a son or a daughter, he didn't even know which--whom he had never even met. He also had a wife who had been lying to him for the last ten years, a wife who had abandoned their son and who had now abandoned him. What was he supposed to do with that? How had this become his life?

Grissom got up, opened another bottle of liquor from the mini-bar, and downed its contents. He then mumbled to himself, "Why, Sara? Why?" He didn't get an answer.

* * *

Sara was getting out of her car in the parking lot of the lab when her cell phone rang. She looked down at the caller id. Her brother was calling her. Sara frowned and opened the phone as she shut the car door.

"Hey, Ritchie, what's wrong?"

"Actually, I was calling to ask you that. By any chance, do you know what's wrong with Connor?"

"What do you mean what's wrong with Connor?"

"Well, he's been in his room crying for the last hour. Usually, he's bouncing off the wall after he talks to you, not crying. Did something happen earlier?"

"Yes. No. Sort of. He asked me if I had changed my mind about him coming tomorrow."

"You haven't, have you?"

"No, of course not," Sara said as she opened the front door to the lab. "I guess he didn't believe me. I can't really blame him. It's not like I've got the best track record in that department. Can you talk to him for me?"

"I tried. He just pulled the covers over his head."

"Well, can you try again? Maybe you can take him out for ice cream or to Chuck-E-Cheese or get him a new video game or book or something. I'll pay you back." Sara quickly glanced at the lab bulletin board as she walked down the hall.

"I'll try. I can't promise anything, though. He's a little hard-headed."

"You think?"

"And I wonder who he got that from?"

"Are you trying to say that he got that from me?"

"If the hard head fits."

"Funny." Sara stopped in the hallway. "What the…?" she muttered under her breath, as she realized what she had just seen on the bulletin board. She turned around and started walking back towards the board.

"Sara?"

Sara stopped in front of the board. It was covered in color copies of her calendar shot. Sara ripped them off the wall and started walking towards the locker room.

"Sara, are you still there?"

"Ritchie, I've got to go. Apparently, I've got to go kill a friend of mine before I can even start my shift."

* * *

Sara shoved the photos in Greg's face. "I wouldn't dream of telling anyone, Sara. It'll be our little secret, Sara. Does this look like a secret to you, Greg?"

Greg looked down at the pictures and backed away from Sara before she had the chance to punch him. He really didn't want to end up like Lady Heather. "Sara, I…uh…I did not do this."

"Sure you didn't, Greg. The calendar just followed you back here on its own, jumped up on the copy machine, made copies, and then pasted them on the board all by itself."

"Sara, I swear, I didn't do it. Okay, I admit that I bought a calendar after you left, but I swear to you, I did not make any copies, and I did not post them on the board. I swear."

"Then who did, Greg? Sofia? Do you expect me to believe that Sofia Curtis took time out of her busy schedule to drive over here and make my life hell? I mean, sure, we've never been the best of friends, but do you really expect me to believe she did this?" Sara threw the pictures at Greg.

"No," Greg stammered.

"Then who, Greg? Give me one good suspect, and I'll let you live," Sara said, as she backed Greg into the corner.

Greg flinched. "I…uh…"

"Hey, you two. Whatcha doing?"

Greg and Sara turned their heads to see Hodges smiling at them from the doorway.

"Hodges," Greg said. "He broke into my locker yesterday, remember? I put the calendar in there when I got back from the bar. There's your suspect. There's the person who made the copies."

Sara turned around, looked at Hodges, and smiled.

"What are you smiling at?" Hodges asked.

"Oh, nothing," Sara said. She turned back to Greg, took off her earrings, necklace, and wedding ring and handed them to Greg. "Hold my jewelry, Greg. I need to go kill a rat." She then turned back to Hodges and cracked the knuckles on both of her hands.

Hodges looked at Sara and gulped. "Uh, Sara, it was just a joke. Ha. Ha. See, it's funny, right?"

"Do I look like I'm laughing, Hodges?"

"No, you don't."

"I didn't think so."

Sara stretched out her arms and then took a step towards Hodges. Hodges winced. "I, uh, I have a test that's running in the lab that I've got to get back to. I'll make sure all the pictures get taken down."

"You do that, Hodges."

Hodges turned around and ran down the hall. Sara turned to Greg and smiled. He handed Sara her jewelry.

"Now that was funny," Greg said, laughing.

"Yes, it was," Sara said, putting her earrings back on.

"You weren't really going to kill me, were you?"

"No, just maim you a little. You don't really need ten fingers, do you?"

"I'd like to think I do."

"Then don't ever cross me, Greg."

"Uh, okay," Greg said, looking scared.

"That was a joke, Greg."

"I know," Greg said, not looking so sure.

"Sara, in my office now!" Ecklie ordered from the doorway.

"Again?" Sara asked him.

"Yes, again," he said, holding up a picture.

"Great. Thank you, Hodges. I'll be right there, Ecklie."

"You'd better be."

When Ecklie left, Sara finished putting on her necklace and wedding ring. "Well, that wasn't a joke."

"No, it wasn't."

Sara threw her things in her locker and shut the door. "Back to the principal's office."


	38. Chapter 38

"What are these?" Ecklie asked Sara, holding up a handful of the pictures Hodges had copied and posted throughout the lab.

"I believe they're called pictures," Sara answered him.

"I know they're pictures, Sara. What are they doing all over this building?"

"Don't ask me. Ask Hodges. He put them up."

"David Hodges?" Sara nodded in response. "And why exactly would David Hodges have pictures of you?"

"Because he stole them out of Greg's locker."

"And why would Greg have them?"

"Because he bought them."

"He bought pictures of you?"

"Yes."

"And why would Greg do that?"

"I don't know. I guess because he liked them."

"So you're what, selling pictures of yourself to your friends now to do what, buy diapers?"

"No."

"So then why are you selling them?"

"I'm not."

"But you said Greg bought them."

"He did."

"But not from you?"

"No."

"So who did he buy them from?"

"I'm assuming from a woman named Kit Carson."

"And why would some woman named Kit Carson be selling pictures of you?"

"Because they were in a calendar she puts out every year."

"And what exactly are you doing in her calendar?"

"I believe it's called smiling and sitting on top of a bar."

"No. I mean why would Kit Carson put you in her calendar?"

"Because I used to work at one of her bars."

"And which bar is that?"

"The Kit Kat Bar. The one in L.A., not the one here."

"The Kit Kat Bar. That's one of those places where the women dance on the bar tops, right? Like in that movie?"

"Yeah, pretty much, except no one I ever worked with wrote a song for LeAnn Rimes. They just got bit parts on soap operas, toothpaste commercials, Target ads, that kind of thing."

"So that means you used to dance on bar tops, too?"

"If you want to call it dancing. I'm not exactly the most coordinated human being in the world."

"And then you posed for a calendar to commemorate that fact?"

"No, I posed for a calendar because I was broke and needed the money."

Ecklie sighed. "Sara…"

"Oh come on, Ecklie. You can't seriously have a problem with that."

"Well, I don't know any other CSI who has his or her own calendar."

"Okay, first of all, it's not my calendar. I'm just one little page in it. Second of all, I'm fully dressed in the picture. Sure, you can see a little bit of my stomach, and I'm obviously wearing a push up bra, but so what? I'm not going to name any names, but that's not very different from the way some of my fellow female coworkers dress around here. Am I dressed that way now? No. Have you ever seen me dress that way in the eight years that I've worked here? No. Unlike some people, I know the difference between a bar and a lab."

"Sara…"

"No, I'm not through. Wendy did some stupid horror movie in college. You don't seem to have a problem with that. Catherine makes no secret of the fact that she used to be a stripper and is Sam Braun's daughter, and once again you have no problem with that, but I tend bar for a few months and pose for a calendar in which I'm fully dressed, as opposed to being naked or in a bikini or in my underwear, and that you have a problem with. So why don't you explain that one to me? No, better yet, why don't you pick up the phone and explain it to my new best friend, the county attorney? And why you're at it, why don't you also explain to him why it is that you're all over my case about something that I did when I didn't even work here, but you're not doing a damn thing about the fact that one of your lab technicians is breaking into other employees' lockers and using lab resources to determine the paternity of his boss's baby?"

"I'm sorry. Say that again. Who is doing what with lab resources?"

"I thought that would get your attention. Hodges, the same David Hodges who is plastering the walls of this lab with these pictures that you have such a problem with, has also been breaking into our lockers and helping himself to samples of our DNA. He took hair from Greg's brush, Nick's toothbrush, and my daughter's pacifier. I'm sure it's only a matter of time before he steals something from Warrick, Archie, Henry, Bobby, Dave, Doc Robbins, Brass, and you--in other words, every man I've come into contact with in the last year--just so he can prove that I'm the office slut, win the 'who's your baby's daddy' pool, and kiss Grissom's ass all at the same time"

"And you're sure he's using lab resources to do that?"

"Well, he is sleeping with our resident DNA expert, or so I've heard. I highly doubt that Hodges is paying out-of-pocket to send the samples off to some independent DNA lab, when his girlfriend can just run the tests for free."

"From the little I know about David Hodges, you're probably right."

"You want to know what else I've heard? I've heard that the county attorney wants you to keep me happy so that I don't sue the county for sexual harassment and negligent hiring. Tell me. Do I look all that happy right now?"

"Not particularly."

"Do you know what would make me happy?"

"If I had a little talk with Hodges?"

"For starters."

* * *

"Well, you look like the cat that ate the canary," Nick told Sara, as she walked into the office, smiling and humming a song under her breath. He held up a picture. "A Kitty Kat perhaps?"

"Ha, ha, very funny," Sara said, grabbing the picture from Nick's hand and wadding it up.

"Oh, come on, Sara. I wanted you to sign it for me. Now I'm going to have to hunt down another one."

"Too bad."

"Seriously, Sara, what's got you in such a good mood? Greg said you were ready to murder him and Hodges not 30 minutes ago."

"Let's just say we may be short a trace analyst for the next few days."

"Ah, you talked to Ecklie about Hodges."

"You were right. It's rather fun having both the county attorney and Ecklie on my side. I also talked to Ecklie about those parking places you suggested and the cappuccino machine."

"And?"

"And it's a no on both. However, he didn't say no to your raise."

"Really?"

"Don't get too excited just yet. He didn't say yes either. I believe his exact words were, 'I'll take it into consideration, Sara.'"

"That's more than he's said to me so far. Thanks, Sara."

"You're welcome. You still want that autograph?"

"No, if the raise goes through, I'll just worship you from afar."

"Well, not that I'm opposed to you worshiping me, but there is something that you can do for me that's a little more productive."

"What's that?"

"Help me move some furniture after we get off shift."

"Are you doing some redecorating?"

"Something like that. There's also something I need to talk to you and Greg about, and I'd rather do that at home than here, if you don't mind."

"Sounds serious. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just really don't want to get into it right now. The walls around here tend to have ears, if you know what I mean, and I'm just not ready to talk to everyone else yet about this particular topic."

Nick frowned at Sara. "Sara, are you sure you're okay? I know you haven't been eating much lately, and you've lost some weight, and you're not sleeping, but I just chalked that up to the post traumatic stress. You're not dying, are you? I mean, you don't have cancer or something, and that's the real reason you came back?"

"No, not that I know of. It's nothing bad like that."

"But if it was, you would tell me, right? You wouldn't make me wait until the end of shift."

"Yes, I'd tell you. Don't worry. I'm fine. I promise. It's just something…personal. That's all."

"Okay, in that case, let's move some furniture. I'll make sure Greg shows up, too."

"Thanks."

"Meanwhile, Brass wants you at the station. He arrested that suspect in your double murder from Monday. He needs you to collect a DNA sample from her."

"I'm on my way."


	39. Chapter 39

_You do realize they're never going to understand what you did?_

Sara quickly glanced at the woman sitting next to her in the passenger seat. "Why can't you just leave me alone?" she asked the woman.

_Because I'm having too much fun torturing you. Isn't that what a conscience is supposed to do, especially one as guilty as yours? You're avoiding the question, by the way._

"But why does my conscience have to wear leather and stiletto heels?"

_How am I supposed to know? It's your conscience, not mine. Maybe you prefer that I look like this._

Sara glanced over and saw Michael Barrett in Heather Kessler's place. "Not particularly."

_Then how about this?_

Sara looked again. Her mother was now sitting next to her in her prison jumpsuit. "Mom."

_Mom. Now that's fitting, considering the situation you're in. The deadbeat mom finally coming clean to her friends about her past. Her own wacko mother as her conscience. Nick and Greg are not going to like being lied to for the last eight years._

"I don't expect them to like it. I just have to tell them."

_And how do you plan on doing that?_

"I don't know. I still have a few hours to figure that out."

_They're never going to look at you the same way again. Before you were just Sara Sidle, the woman who wasn't good with kids. Now you're going to be Sara Sidle, the woman who was so bad with kids that she abandoned her own kid for a guy and a job. They're going to hate you for that._

"Maybe."

_Maybe? Are you kidding me? You hate you. Your son hates you. Why shouldn't your friends?_

"My son doesn't hate me."

_No, he's just at your brother's house right now, crying himself to sleep, because he's so full of love for his mother. He's not even nine yet, and he already knows he can't depend on you for anything._

"That doesn't mean he hates me."

_Maybe not, but one day Connor will be old enough to understand what you did to him and why you did it, and then he's going to hate you, every bit as much as you hate me. Ava, too._

"I don't hate you, Mom. I just wish things were different."

_Wishes are for fools, baby. Haven't I taught you that by now?"_

Sara shrugged in response.

_Now let's talk about Gil. If your friends are going to hate you, how do you think your husband is going to feel when you finally tell him the truth? It's not going to matter that he never wanted kids. It's not going to matter that he had an affair with Lady Heather. All that is going to matter is that you lied to him, over and over and over again for nearly ten years._

"I'll find a way to make him understand."

_How? By playing the dead father and crazy mother card? You've already played that card, honey. It might have saved your job, but it's not going to save your marriage._

"So I'll just tell him the truth."

_And what? The truth will set you free?_

"Maybe."

_There is no maybe, Sara. The only thing that the truth is going to do is leave you all alone in this world. It's not too late, you know. You can still fix this. Call your brother. Tell him not to bring Connor. Tell him you changed your mind. Tell him to drop the kid off at the Department of Children and Family Services. Tell him the kid's better off in foster care than with you. Tell him that you're too much like me, and you're not fit to be a mother. Tell him anything; just don't tell your friends and your husband what you did._

"I can't do that, Mom. I've been doing that for far too long."

_Then don't say I didn't warn you. You're going to lose everything._

"That's a risk I'm just going to have to take," Sara said, as she drove into the parking lot of the police department, pulled into a space, and turned off the car.

_Are you going to tell him?_

"Who?"

_Jim Brass. Isn't he the guy you told Ritchie was the father you should have had?_

"Yeah, that's him."

_Are you going to tell him about Connor?_

"I kind of have to, don't I?"

_No._

"That was rhetorical question, Mom."

_Not for me. Are you going to tell him now?_

"I don't know."

_Don't do it, baby. Listen to Mama. She knows what she's talking about, and wipe your face. Your mascara's running. You look like Tammy Faye._

Sara flipped the visor down and looked at herself in the mirror. Her mother was right. Her face was streaked with mascara-laced tears. Sara grabbed a Kleenex from the console, wiped the black lines from her cheeks, and made a mental note to pick up some waterproof mascara over the weekend.

"Better?" she asked, turning towards the passenger seat. Sara saw that the seat was now empty. She turned back towards the steering wheel and flipped the visor back up. "I guess that was another rhetorical question," she said to herself. She rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. "What am I going to do?" she asked out loud. That question was one she actually did want an answer to, but her conscience was no longer talking.

* * *

"I hear you need a DNA sample," Sara said to Brass, as she entered the observation room.

"You heard right," Brass answered.

Sara walked up to the two-way mirror and looked at the woman sitting in the interrogation room. "So that's Lisa Alexander."

"Yep," Brass answered.

"Hmm," Sara said, as she continued to stare at their suspect.

Brass looked over and noticed Sara's bloodshot eyes. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked Sara.

"Yeah, why?"

"Your eyes. They're kind of red."

"Oh, that. It's allergies. It's that time of year. I'm fine, really." Sara turned back to the mirror. "She's not what I expected."

"What did you expect, horns?"

"Not necessarily. Just bigger. Scarier somehow. She doesn't look big enough to harm a fly, let alone another human being."

"Maybe she took the fly and the human by surprise."

"Maybe. It reminds me of that poem they made us learn when we were kids. 'The Spider and the Fly.' 'So he wove a subtle web, in a little corner sly, and set his table ready to dine before the fly.'"

"Lisa Alexander wove her web, and Karen and Isabel Wilson got stuck in it."

"Looks like it. Has she said anything yet?"

"No. She lawyered up. What do you expect from a legal secretary?"

"Too bad this isn't one of those crime dramas where all the cop has to do is look at the suspect and she spills her guts in the last 15 minutes of the show."

"Tell me about it. I keep practicing the look, but it never seems to work in the real world. Did you get the results back on the car?"

"Wendy said the blood's a match for Karen Wilson's, and, according to Hodges, the carpet fibers and cat hairs are consistent with those found in the house."

"You actually spoke to Hodges? The rumor mill has it that things have been a little--shall we say--intense between the two of you."

"No, I made Greg talk to him. Seniority has to have some perks, but yeah, things are a little intense right now. You know Hodges, the eternal brownnoser. He wants to be Grissom's golden boy so badly that he's willing to destroy my life in the process. Just so you know, he'll probably be in contact with you soon. He'll be requesting a DNA sample from you."

"For what?"

"To rule you in or out as my baby's father."

"Uh, did I miss something? I know my memory's not as sharp as it used to be, but I think I would remember that."

Sara laughed. "No, you didn't miss anything. Apparently, Hodges just believes that I'll jump anything in pants and has started an office pool to prove it."

"Nice guy. Remind me not to complain the next time one of my guys forgets to refill the coffee pot. It doesn't seem so bad in comparison."

"I'll try to remember that. Speaking of complaints, how's the Lady Heather case going?"

"It's not."

"I thought you were going to nail her ass to the wall for me."

"I tried, Sara. Honestly, I did, but let's just say the DA took away my hammer."

"Why?"

"According to Doc Robbins, the old guy died of a heart attack, plain and simple. There was no foul play involved."

"Well, did he check for puncture marks? She could have injected an air bubble into his veins with a syringe. She's supposed to be a diabetic, right? She should have plenty of them. An air bubble could cause a heart attack."

"Nick and Warrick had Doc check and recheck every inch of skin. They wanted her for this as much as you did. There just weren't any marks."

"What if he had a history of heart disease, and she knew about it? You could argue reckless endangerment, negligent homicide, or maybe even manslaughter."

"I tried, Sara. The DA wouldn't go for it."

"Maybe he had some nitroglycerin pills, and she withheld them. That's got to be a crime, right?"

"Sofia spoke to his wife and doctor. He didn't have any pills, Sara."

"Well, there's got to be something you can get her for. A parking ticket. A broken taillight. Practicing S & M without a license. Something."

"I tried, Sara. It's just not going to happen this time."

"Great. Just great. A perfect ending to a perfect week. You know, she came to my house the other day. She wanted to talk."

"No, I didn't know. So did the two of you talk?"

"She talked. I tried not to kill her."

"And how did that work out?"

"As far as I know, she's still alive. At least she was when she left my house."

"Do you want to take out a restraining order? We can start the paperwork while you're here."

"No, that's okay. I've already got a canine restraining order out against her."

"Who, Hank?" Sara nodded. "Sara, Hank's a very scared cat in boxer clothing. He's not much protection."

"But she thinks he is. That's all that matters."

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know."

"I will." Sara looked down at the floor and took a deep breath. "Hey, do you have plans for after shift?"

"Actually, I do."

"What, are you going back to Scores for your free lap dance?"

This time Brass laughed. "No. I'm going to L.A. to see Ellie."

"Oh."

"Why? Is everything all right? Did you need something?"

"No, I just…uh…I needed to move some furniture and was looking for some volunteers. That's all."

"I can stop by before I leave."

"No, that's okay. Greg and Nick should be able to handle it."

"If you're sure."

"I am. Go see Ellie. She's a very lucky girl to have a father like you."

"I'm sure she doesn't think so, but thanks."

"You're welcome." Sara walked towards the door, stopped, and turned to Brass. "Let's go get that DNA sample."


	40. Chapter 40

"_Sara?" Laura Sidle asked her daughter from the other side of the glass partition._

"_Hi, Mom," Sara answered back._

"_Is that really you?"_

"_It's really me."_

"_It's been a long time."_

"_Yeah, it has."_

"_The last time I saw you, you were what…18?"_

"_I was 16, Mom."_

"_You came to tell me that you were going to Harvard and wouldn't be visiting anymore."_

"_Yeah, I'm sorry about that. I should have come more. I…um…I graduated."_

"_I know. Your brother told me."_

"_Oh."_

"_I can understand why you didn't come. This has never been easy for you."_

"_It's never been easy for any of us."_

"_No, I guess it hasn't. Look, Sara, I don't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but why now? Why have you come after all these years?"_

"_I don't know. I guess it was time."_

"_Does this have something to do with what happened to you?"_

"_What do you mean what happened to me?"_

"_The kidnapping."_

"_You know about that?"_

"_I saw it on the news. We have a TV in the common area."_

"_It made the news here?"_

"_Honey, I saw it on Good Morning America. It made the news everywhere."_

"_Oh. I guess I didn't realize that."_

"_How are you doing with it?"_

"_Not so good. I…um…I quit my job. I left my husband."_

"_You got married?"_

"_About a month ago. He's a really good guy, Mom. I think you would like him. He's not like Dad. He would never hit me."_

"_So then why did you leave?"_

"_I don't know. I just haven't been feeling so great lately. I can't stop thinking about the past."_

"_You mean you can't stop thinking about your father?"_

"_Among other things. I remembered, Mom."_

"_Remembered what?"_

"_Everything. I remembered what you did. I was standing in the hallway, and I saw you do it. I saw you kill Dad."_

"_Sara…"_

"_Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't Ritchie? Why didn't the social workers?"_

"_Because we didn't want you to know. It was bad enough that you knew what I did. I didn't want you to remember that you watched me do it."_

"_But why did you do it, Mom? Why did you kill Dad?"_

"_Sara, honey, you know why."_

"_Because he hit you? Because he hit us?"_

"_Yes."_

"_But that's such a cop out. You could have called the police. You could have taken us and left. You could have gotten him to go to rehab. You didn't have to kill him."_

"_Sara, we've been down this road before."_

"_But it's different now."_

"_Why? Because you remembered what happened?"_

"_No, because I have a son." Sara held a picture up to the glass partition. "The guard said I could show this to you. His name is Connor. He just turned eight. I walked out on him years ago because I thought I couldn't be his mother."_

"_Sara, why would you do that?" Sara didn't answer her mother. "Because of me," Laura said, answering her own question. She shook her head. "You think you're going to end up like me. Where is Connor now? Did you give him up for adoption? Is he in foster care?"_

"_No. Do you remember Michael Barrett? Ritchie's friend that lived next door?"_

"_Little Mikey?"_

"_Yeah, that's him. Connor's with him."_

"_Connor is Mikey's son?"_

"_No, not biologically. I guess he is legally; Michael's name is on the birth certificate, but biologically, Connor is Gil's, my husband's. I just haven't told him yet."_

"_Sara…"_

"_I know. I know. It sounds like a really bad soap opera. I was living with Michael when I got pregnant. We met at a crime scene. I'm a CSI. That's a crime scene investigator."_

"_I know what that is, Sara. Like I said, we have a TV in the common area. They let us watch that show; you know, the one where that guy from NYPD Blue who is always taking his sunglasses on and off."_

"_Oh. I didn't realize. Anyway, Michael and I hadn't seen each other since we were kids, and I don't know. I guess I was still mad at Ritchie for leaving me in foster care."_

"_Sara, you've got to get over that already. You've got to forgive your brother. He tried to get you out of there."_

"_I know he did, Mom. I know that now, but at the time…Well, you know how I can hold a grudge. I've barely said five words to Ritchie since college. Anyway, I guess I was still mad at him, and I guess I thought what better way to stick it to my big brother than to date his best friend, so I asked Michael out for drinks, and things were really good at first. He was just like he was when we were kids. Do you remember how he and Ritchie used to let me tag along with them everywhere?"_

"_I remember. You were the only girl your age who knew more about cars than Barbies."_

"_I still am. Anyway, things were good at first, and then we moved in together, and things stopped being so good. He started hitting me."_

"_Sara…"_

"_I know, Mom. I know you believe that you did what you did so I'd never have to live like that again. I know that, just like I know that I should have left the first time Michael hit me, but I didn't. I stayed, and I let him hit me over and over again._

_But then one day I went to this forensic conference, and I met this man--this wonderful, kind, smart, gentle man--and we spent the night together. It was just one night, but it made me realize what my life could be like and who it could be with. I should have left Michael then, but I didn't. I stayed, just like you did all those years. _

_But then my son was born, and I took one look at him, and I knew he wasn't Michael's. I should have left then, but I didn't. I guess I was scared of what Michael would do to me if I did, but mostly I was scared of what I would do. I didn't know how to be a mother, Mom. I still don't, and Michael, he was constantly telling me that I was a lousy mother, that Connor was going to grow up to hate me, that I was ruining his life, that I was…"_

"_Just like me."_

"_Yeah. So when Gil called me with this job offer, I finally left, but I didn't take my son with me. When I was out in the desert, lying under that car, I realized that leaving Connor with Michael was the biggest mistake of my life. I want my son back, Mom. I know that's probably selfish of me, especially after all these years, especially after all the lies I've told and all the people I've hurt, but I don't care. I want him back. I want to tuck him in at night and take him to soccer practice and watch him grow up. I want to be his mother, and I need you to tell me if I do that, if I take him home with me, that I'm not going to hurt him, that I'm not going to screw his life up the way you screwed up mine, that I'm not going to break his heart."_

"_Sara…"_

"_Mama, please."_

"_You haven't called me that since you were six."_

"_I know, but that's who I need now. I need that woman to tell me that everything's going to be okay, that I can be a mother, that I can be his mother," Sara said, placing the picture of Connor against the glass partition again._

"_I'm sorry, Sara, but I can't do that."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because I don't know you, Sara, not this adult you. The Sara I knew wore pigtails and liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and Nancy Drew. I haven't seen that Sara in over 20 years."_

"_Then tell me you're sorry about Dad. Tell me that you would take it back if you could. Tell me that there's hope for me."_

"_I can't do that either, Sara."_

"_You can't, or you won't?"_

"_I can't, Sara. I'm not sorry that I killed your father. I did what I had to do to keep you and your brother safe, and I would do it again in a heartbeat."_

"_Mama, please."_

"_Sara. Sara, are you awake?"_

Sara sat up and looked around. She was in Catherine's office, sitting at her desk, not at the Central California Women's Facility in Chowchilla. She rubbed her eyes and then looked down at her watch. She had been asleep for nearly two hours. When she had gotten back from the police station, she had found out that Greg and Nick had been called to another crime scene, so she had gone into Catherine's office in search of a Tylenol for her headache and few minutes of peace and quiet. She had only meant to close her eyes for a few minutes.

"Sara?" Archie asked again from the doorway.

"Yeah, Archie, I'm awake. Did you need me?"

"Yeah, it's about that laptop you brought me. Mary Sullivan's. I found something on it that I think you should see."


	41. Chapter 41

"So what did you find, Archie?" Sara asked, as she took a seat in front of Mary Sullivan's laptop.

Archie hit a few keys to bring Mary's email up on the computer screen. "Have you ever heard of Carmen Winstead?" Archie asked Sara.

"No. I can't say that I've had."

"How about Jessica Smith?"

"Nope, sorry. Should I have heard of them?"

"Only if you'd gotten one of these," Archie said, pointing at the screen. "It's an email Mary got a couple of weeks ago." Archie began to read the email out loud. " 'She was pushed. About six years ago in Indiana, Carmen Winstead was pushed down a sewer opening by five girls in her school who were trying to embarrass her in front of her school during a fire drill. When she didn't emerge, the police were called. They went down and brought up 17-year-old Carmen Winstead's body. She had broken her neck when she hit the ladder, and then she hit her side on the concrete at the bottom. The girls told everyone she fell. Everyone believed them.

Fact: Two months ago, 16-year-old David Gregory read this post and didn't repost it. When he went to take a shower, he heard laughter from his shower. He started freaking out and ran to his computer to repost the message. He said goodnight to his mother and went to sleep. Five hours later his mother woke up in the middle of the night because of a loud noise and found that David was gone. A few hours later, the police found David in the sewer, his neck broken and the skin on his face peeled off.

If you don't repost this saying, 'She was pushed' or 'They pushed her down a sewer,' then Carmen will get you, either from a sewer, the toilet, or the shower, or when you go to sleep, you'll wake up in the sewer in the dark, and Carmen will come and kill you.'"

"We found Mary in the sewer."

"Exactly, which is why I did a little more digging. There's another version of the email making its rounds on the internet. In that version, a girl named Jessica Smith is pushed into the sewer, while a boy named Ron Anderson gets attacked by Jessica's ghost."

"But they're both just chain letters, right?"

"Right. According to , no one by either name has died in that manner in the last six years. It's just another take on your garden-variety chain letter that promises that the recipient of the email will experience bad luck if she doesn't forward the letter to a certain number of friends. The only difference is this email wants the recipient to post the letter on her MySpace or Facebook page."

"Did Mary have a MySpace or Facebook account?"

"Yes." Archie hit a few more keys and brought up Mary Sullivan's MySpace page. "Here's Mary's MySpace page. As you can see, she didn't post the Carmen Winstead message as instructed."

"I see. Maybe Mary was bright enough to know it was just another urban legend and figured why bother."

"Maybe, but check out her friends."

"Sally, Claire, Erin, Abby, and Elizabeth. Aren't those the name of the other girls at the slumber party?"

"Yeah. I called Brass to make sure, but, yeah, that's them. Now check out their pages." Archie brought up the girls' pages in succession.

"Each girl posted the Carmen Winstead letter on her MySpace page."

"Now look at the Friends' Comments section on Mary's page." Archie clicked out of the other girls' pages so that only Mary's remained on the screen. "They're all about Carmen Winstead. The ones posted immediately before the party all warn Mary that Carmen is going to get her. The ones since warn everyone else."

Sara read some of the comments. " 'We told her it was true, but she wouldn't listen. Now she's dead.' 'Carmen killed Mary. The cops found her in the sewer, and her neck was broken, just like Carmen's. Check this out.' Do you know what the link takes you to?"

"To an article from the Las Vegas Review-Journal about Mary's disappearance and the discovery of her body."

"Archie, you're not suggesting Carmen's ghost reached up out of the sewer and dragged Mary into it, are you?"

"No, although that would be pretty cool." Sara gave Archie a look. "Okay, not cool. A 12-year-old girl is dead, and that's never cool, but Carmen's ghost--that would be very X-Files."

"Well, Archie, while I believe the truth is out there, I'm not quite ready to call Brass and tell him that truth lies with a ghost named Carmen. I think he would have a hard time convincing a judge to sign an arrest warrant for someone who's been dead six years."

"How about for five 12-year-old girls? The email and the circumstances of Mary's death can't be a coincidence."

"Grissom would say that there are no coincidences, just science."

"And what is science telling us?"

Sara thought about the long brown hairs found in Mary's hand. "That the email was right. She was pushed."

* * *

"So you don't have any idea what Sara wants to talk to us about?" Greg asked Nick. The two of them were finishing up at the scene of a breaking and entering at a house in Green Valley.

"No idea. She just said it was something she wasn't ready for the rest of the lab to hear," Nick answered.

"Hmm," Greg said, frowning, "You don't think she's dying, do you? I mean, that could account for the weight loss, the crying, why she came back to Vegas to begin with."

"That's what I said, too, but she said she wasn't."

"Uh, you don't think someone else has died, do you?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean you don't think that, by asking us to help her move furniture, what Sara is really asking is for us to help her move a body that's hidden in the furniture?"

"No, Greg, the thought never crossed my mind."

"Really? Well when was the last time you heard from Lady Heather?"

"Uh, never. I don't exactly have the woman on speed dial. Why? Does she call you on a regular basis?"

"No."

"So then why do you suddenly care about her well-being?"

"I don't. I just have this bad feeling is all. Sara told me that she had a dream the other day in which she killed Heather and tried to make her death look like a suicide."

"It was just a dream, Greg. It doesn't mean it was true. Heck, just last week I dreamed that I was on a hit TV show and got fired when I overslept on the first day of shooting for the new season. Am I on a hit TV show, Greg? No. Did I get fired for oversleeping? No. If I was, I wouldn't be standing here right now, dusting for fingerprints and looking for hairs on the floor, that's for sure."

"Yeah, but have you noticed Sara's temper lately? She can go from nice to Queen B in like two seconds flat."

"So?"

"So who's to say she didn't lose her temper when Lady Heather paid her a little visit the other day."

"Greg, come on. Sara may have roughed up the woman a little bit, but she wouldn't have killed her and shoved her in her daughter's toy box."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, and you should be to."

"So tell me then, where's Grissom?"

"He's not in the toy box either, Greg. He's in San Francisco, the last I heard."

"San Francisco?" Nick nodded in response. "Does that mean he's finally going after Sara?"

"Looks like. Too bad he didn't think to call home first."

"Does Sara know?"

"No. Brass thought it was best not to tell her, just in case he couldn't find Grissom or convince him to come back."

"Are you going to tell her?"

"I wasn't. Then I was. Now I'm not so sure. I guess it all depends on what she has to tell us."

"Yeah, but what's that?"

Nick's cell phone rang. Nick took it off his belt and looked at the caller id. Brass. "Hold that thought," he told Greg. "Hey, Brass, what's up?" he said, answering the phone. Nick was quiet while he listened to Brass's end of the conversation. "Yeah, I'll send someone over." Nick hit the end button and began dialing another number.

"New scene?"

"Yeah. I guess I'm going to have to send Sara. She's not going to like it."

"Why?"

"It's in Red Rock Canyon."

"Oh. That's not good."

"No, it's not."

* * *

Sara was forcing herself to eat something. She wasn't hungry, but the Tylenol she had taken for her headache had not exactly made her empty stomach happy. She was attacking her sandwich one slow bite at a time, but it was still a struggle to keep the food down. She couldn't stop thinking about Connor and how she was going to tell people about him. She also couldn't stop worrying about how they'd treat her afterwards.

Sara knew she needed her friends now more than ever for support. Since she had returned, they had been there for her without question, but Sara wondered if they would still be supportive after they found out that she had essentially lied to them for the last eight years. Greg and Nick would be the easy ones to tell. To her knowledge, they didn't have children. Thus, they didn't have a personal stake in her confession, but Catherine was another story. How was she going to tell Supermom that she had walked out on her son? Sara didn't think that there was any way Catherine would ever understand what she did. And what about Warrick? She had heard through the grapevine about Tina's baby. Would Warrick ever look at her as anything but another Tina? And then there was Grissom. If or when he ever returned to Vegas, that would be the hardest confession of all.

With each bite, Sara rehearsed another scenario in her head. Maybe she could stop by some gift shop on the way home and buy a bunch of "It's a boy" cigars. She could just hand them to Nick and Greg when they walked in her front door and say, "Surprise!" Maybe she could start out by saying, "You know how I've always been bad with children and kind of freak out when they're around? Well, there's a good reason for that." Or maybe she could just tell them a fairy tale about this bird and this bee who went to a forensic conference and left with more than a stupid t-shirt.

The next scenario was interrupted by Sara's ringing phone. Sara put her sandwich down and answered the phone. "Hello."

"Hey, Sara, it's Nick." Nick answered Sara. "Brass just called me with a 419, but Greg and I are still tied up on this B & E."

"Okay, just tell me where to go, and I'll be there."

"See, that's the thing. The DB's out in Red Rock Canyon."

"Oh," Sara said and took a deep breath. Red Rock Canyon. She hadn't expected that. Sara took another deep breath and then said something she didn't want to. "Tell Brass I'm on my way."

"Are you sure?" Nick asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure." No, she wasn't sure, Sara thought. She wasn't sure at all.

"It's okay if you're not. I can call Catherine or Warrick, have one of them come in."

Please do, Sara thought. "No, don't. Let them enjoy their night off."

"Are you sure?"

No, of course I'm not sure, Nick, Sara thought. I haven't been back there since that night. "Yes, I'm sure."

"Sara…"

"Seriously, Nick, I'll be fine." No, I won't. I had a panic attack just going into a parking garage, Sara thought. What do you think is going to happen if I go back to the scene of the crime, my crime?

"Look. Greg and I are almost through here. We'll meet you there as soon as we can."

"Take your time." No, don't take your time, Sara thought. Hurry. Please, just hurry. Don't make me go out there alone.

"Sara?"

"Yes, Nick."

"Just remember to take deep breaths when you get there."

"I will." Easier said than done, she thought.

"You're going to be fine."

"I know." No, I don't know, Sara thought. I hope, but I don't know.

"I'll see you in just a little."

"Yeah, I'll see you."

Sara hung up the phone. Red Rock Canyon. She had to go to Red Rock Canyon. Sara clutched her stomach and ran towards the bathroom. She was going to throw up.

* * *

"Breathe in," Sara instructed herself, as she drove towards the flashing police lights that punctuated the darkness of Red Rock Canyon. She took the deepest breath she could muster and held it in. "Breathe out," she continued to instruct herself, blowing out the breath through pursed lips. "Tighten the muscle," she added, as she tightened the muscles in her neck and shoulders. "Release the muscle," she said, releasing the same muscles.

"This isn't working, Dr. Young," Sara mumbled to herself. She parked the SUV next to a squad car and turned off the vehicle's engine. She then sat there, staring past the lights into the darkness in which she had once been lost. Despite her attempts on the drive over to breathe deeply and to relax her muscles, Sara still felt sick to her stomach. Worse yet, she still felt the telltale tightness in her chest. She was scared she was going to have another panic attack, only this time she was going to have a much bigger audience than Brass.

Sara tried to give herself a pep talk. "It's just some dirt and some rocks. No big deal. You've got dirt and rocks all over Las Vegas. You don't panic every time you take Hank for a walk. You don't panic at the beach. You're not going to panic here. You're not alone. Brass is here. Dave's here. Uniforms are here. Nick and Greg will be here soon. You are not alone, not this time. You're going to be okay."

Sara took another deep breath and opened the door. She had to take another deep breath before she could will herself out of the seat. She gripped the car door but could go no further.

"We meet again," Brass said, as he approached Sara.

"Hi, Jim."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

"You just look a little pale."

"Oh, that. The faux tan has just washed off, that's all. I'm fine."

"You know, I might actually believe that explanation if you didn't have a death grip on the door," Brass said, pointing towards Sara's right hand.

Sara looked down at her hand. "Oh," she said, letting go of the door.

"Sara, if you don't want to do this, if you don't feel up to it, everyone will understand."

"No, I'm good, really."

"We can wait for Nick and Greg."

"No, I can do it."

"Yeah?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah. So where's the body?"

"This way." Brass started walking towards the body, and Sara followed. "Nick told me to tell you to take deep breaths."

"I'm trying."

"I know. Here it is," Brass said when they arrived at the body. "A couple of hikers set up camp over there for the night," Brass explained, nodding in the direction of the hikers' tent. "One of them came over here to relieve himself behind the rocks and stumbled over the bones."

When Sara looked down at the ground where the bones laid, she did not see bones. Instead, she saw herself lying there in her tank top and jeans, her broken arm lying loosely in the makeshift sling that she had constructed from her blouse. Sara closed her eyes tight in an effort to block out the image.

"Sara," she heard Brass say. "Are you okay?"

It's not me, she told herself. It's not me. Sara opened her eyes and looked at Brass. "I'm fine. I just got some sand in my eyes. I'm going to be okay."

Brass looked at Sara. Despite her affirmations to the contrary, Sara did not look okay to him. Rather, she looked like she could break at any minute. Brass just hoped he could get to California and find Gil before that happened.


	42. Chapter 42

Hodges was antsy. He had been walking up and down the hallways for the last half hour, trying to find something to do or someone to piss off while he waited for Wendy to finish her work. She had worn that shirt again today, the one that showed a bit of stomach every time she moved her arms, the one that she knew made him crazy. He couldn't wait to get her home, but until then he had to settle for other forms of entertainment.

Hodges glanced in each office as he passed them. He was hoping to find his second favorite form of entertainment, Sara Sidle. He refused to call or think of her as Sara Grissom. He wouldn't defame the boss that way. He knew that Sara was trouble. He knew that she was bad for the boss. Now all he had to do was prove it. Sara thought that she had been so smart this morning, going to Ecklie and asking him to do something about the DNA tests. Lucky for him, Wendy had been backed up with work and hadn't started the tests yet, so neither Ecklie nor Sara had anything on him. In the end, Ecklie hadn't suspended him; he had just yelled a lot.

"Who's the smart one now?" Hodges asked himself. "Inappropriate use of lab resources? Huh!"

Hodges walked into the lobby and stood next to Judy's desk. He wanted to be the first face Sara saw when she got back from the crime scene.

"Judy," he said, nodding at the receptionist.

"Hodges," Judy answered back. "Can I help you with something?"

Hodges straightened the business cards on Judy's desk. "Nope. Just waiting on someone."

"Join the club," Judy said, nodding in the direction of the lobby's chairs.

Hodges turned to look at whom Judy was referring. A woman with long blonde hair was reading in one of the lobby chairs, while a brunette boy of around eight or nine was engrossed in a Nintendo DS game in the chair next to her. For some reason, the woman seemed familiar to Hodges. He thought he knew her from somewhere; he just couldn't pinpoint where. As for the child, Hodges had never seen him before, but there something about him, too, that was familiar.

"Excuse me for a minute, Judy," Hodges said to the receptionist, as he started to walk in the blonde's direction.

"Gladly," Judy muttered.

Hodges stood in front of the blonde and cleared his throat. The blonde gave him a second's glance and then continued reading. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?" Hodges asked her.

The woman glanced up from her reading materials again and looked at Hodges. "I doubt it," she answered.

"Are you sure? You just look so familiar."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure," the blonde said, returning to her script.

"You must get that a lot."

"No, not really."

"What's that you're reading? It looks like a script."

"That's because it is a script."

"You're an actress?"

"Well, that would be the reason I'm reading the script."

Hodges bent down and looked at the cover of the script. "Later Gator. Is that like a romantic comedy?"

"No. It's a SciFi movie, one of those creature features they show on the weekends. I got the lead."

"Really?" The blonde nodded. "I'll have to watch that when it comes on."

"You do that," the blonde answered. The child next to her snickered at his companion's obvious sarcasm.

Hodges, unfaltered by the blonde's comment, extended his hand. "I'm David Hodges, by the way."

The blonde rolled her eyes, put down her script, and shook his hand. "Cameron Lane."

"Nice to meet you. So is Cameron Lane your stage name or your birth name?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, not really. Have you been in anything I would have seen?"

"Do you watch daytime TV?"

Hodges shook his head. While he was completely addicted to The Young and the Restless, he wasn't about to admit it in front of the lady. "No, sorry."

"How about commercials? Do you watch them?"

"Sometimes."

"Well, I was in a Colgate commercial once. Secret. Jergen's lotion. Tampax tampons."

Hodges grimaced at the mention of tampons. The kid laughed again. "Have you done any primetime shows?"

"I played a dead body on a crime show once."

"Really? Which one?"

"Oh, you know the one with that guy that played Reese Witherspoon's father in that movie."

"Law & Order?"

"No, not the father from Man in the Moon. The one with the father from Fear."

"Oh, that show. I love that show."

"Yeah, me, too."

"Is this your son?" Hodges asked.

"She wishes," the kid piped up.

"More like he does," the blonde countered.

"In your dreams, Aunt Cam. In your dreams."

"So he's your nephew?" Hodges asked.

"Sort of," the blonde answered.

"So what are the two of you doing here on a Saturday morning? You ought to be outside, enjoying the weather, not cooped up in a lab."

"We're waiting on my mom," the kid answered. "She works here."

The blonde looked at her watch. "And apparently she's running late."

"That's too bad," Hodges commented, as he wracked his brain, trying to figure out who on the day shift had a son. He wanted to talk to whoever she was, see if the blonde was single, maybe even get the blonde's number. He couldn't do it now, not with Wendy just a few feet away. As if on cue, Wendy cleared her throat behind Hodges. Hodges turned around and saw Wendy with her arms crossed, not looking the least bit happy with him.

"Wen, hi. I, uh, I was just…"

"I know what you were just doing," Wendy said.

The kid laughed again. "Someone's in trouble," he said to Hodges.

"I am not," Hodges told the boy.

"I'd listen to the kid if I were you," Wendy told Hodges.

"Wen, I was just making conversation."

"Sure you were. Look, I've got another 30 minutes, maybe more, before I'm ready to go home. You can wait, or you can leave. I really don't care which anymore."

"I'll…I'll wait."

"Your choice," Wendy said, walking off in anger.

Hodges sat down slowly in one of the lobby chairs.

"I told you that you were in trouble," the kid said to him.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Hodges answered back.

* * *

Sara was exhausted. It had taken all her willpower, but she had somehow managed to avoid having a panic attack. It hadn't been easy. Despite the miles of open space surrounding her, Sara had felt closed in and trapped by Red Rock Canyon. The nearly impenetrable darkness, the slight nip in the night air, the howl of coyotes in the distance, and even the gritty feel of the sand against her gloved hands had made her heart catch in her throat. In the end, the only thing that had kept her from losing it were her kids. Connor hadn't seen her in over a week. She didn't want him coming home to a mother who was too drugged up to function. She didn't want him to be scared for her or for himself. As for Ava, she may have been too young to realize why her mother wasn't picking her up when she cried, but she wasn't too young to realize that her mother wasn't doing it.

Sara closed her eyes and laid her head against the passenger window. She had let Greg drive the SUV back to the lab, so that she could rest along the way. She had so much to do before Cameron and Connor arrived that she doubted she would get any sleep when she got home.

"Sara?" Greg asked.

Sara opened her eyes and turned her head to look at Greg. "Greg, why is it that every time I close my eyes, you think it's an open invitation to start asking me questions?"

"Sorry. I just wanted to say that I was really proud of you back there."

"Thank you, Greg. Now may I go back to sleep?"

"Yeah, sure." No sooner had Sara closed her eyes than Greg started talking again. "Sara?"

Sara opened her eyes and sat up again. "Yes, Greg."

"Are you sure you're not dying?"

"Well, technically, Greg, we're all dying. It kind of goes along with being mortal."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, Greg, I'm sure I'm not dying."

Sara only got one eye closed this time before Greg resumed his inquiry. "Are you sure you didn't kill Lady Heather?"

"Yes, Greg, I'm sure I didn't kill her. That wouldn't be the kind of thing I would forget. Anything else?"

"No, that's it." Sara started to lay her head back against the window when Greg changed his mind. "Yeah, wait. I have one more thing When you say move furniture, do you really mean move furniture, or do you mean move a dead body?"

"Greg, didn't I just say that I didn't kill Lady Heather?"

"Yes, but you didn't say that you didn't kill Grissom."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Greg, seriously, you need to stop thinking. I don't say that to a lot of people because usually I'm all for people thinking, but in your case it's really starting to be annoying. I have some furniture in the office that I want moved downstairs. I'd do it myself, but my upper body strength isn't what it used to be. It's that simple. Please stop trying to make it more complicated than it needs to be."

"Okay. Sorry."

Sara closed her eyes, and she and Greg rode in silence the rest of the way to the lab. By the time Sara had garnered enough energy to get out of the car in the parking lot, Nick was already at the door, opening it for her.

"Do you want me to carry you?" Nick asked.

"No, I think I've got it," Sara said, sliding out of the seat.

"Come on, it could be fun. Wouldn't you love to see the expression on Hodges's face if I carried you over the threshold?"

"I thought Hodges went home for the day."

"Yeah, about that. Ecklie didn't exactly suspend Hodges."

"By 'not exactly,' I take it you mean 'not at all.'"

"Yeah, sorry. He did yell at him, though. You could hear Ecklie all the way out in the parking lot. He might have even made Hodges cry."

"Well, I guess that's better than nothing."

"Hey, any day Hodges gets in trouble is a good day," Greg told Sara.

"True," she said back.

"Well, if you won't let me carry you, will you at least let me get the door?" Nick asked.

"Fine," Sara said. She stopped at the front door of the lab and waited for Nick to open it. Nick opened the door and bowed. "Why, thank you, kind sir," Sara said in jest.

"You're welcome, madam," Nick said in response. He then let go of the door before Greg could go through the opening.

"Hey, where's the love?" Greg asked Nick, as the door started to shut on him. He grabbed the door, pulled it back open, and went inside. Catching up to Sara and Nick in the lobby, Greg asked Sara, "So you won't even give us a hint as to what you want to talk to us about?"

Before Sara could answer Greg, the brunette boy from the lobby ran up to Sara and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Mom!" he exclaimed, hugging Sara. Hodges, who was still sitting in the lobby, snapped his head up and looked at Sara in disbelief, while Greg and Nick froze in place.

Sara hugged the boy back and then looked at her friends. "Hint, hint," she said.


	43. Chapter 43

Nick and Greg were speechless. Sara couldn't blame them. If she had been in their shoes, she wouldn't have seen this revelation coming either. She gave them a half-smile and then turned her attention to Connor and Cameron. Sara bent down so that she was eye-level with Connor and brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "You're early," she said to him and Cameron. "I didn't think you were coming until this afternoon."

"We wanted to surprise you," Connor told her.

"Well, you certainly did that," Sara responded.

"It was the only thing that would cheer him up," Cammie added. "I didn't think you would mind."

"It was a good surprise, wasn't it, Mom?"

"Yeah, it was a good surprise. The best." Connor hugged her again. Sara hugged him back and then stood up. "There's some people I want you and Aunt Cam to meet." Sara turned Connor around so that he faced Nick and Greg. "These are my friends, Nick and Greg."

"Hi," Connor said to them.

"Hi," Nick and Greg answered back.

Sara turned Connor towards Hodges and Judy. "And it looks like you've already met Judy and Hodges," she stated.

Connor nodded in agreement. "He got in trouble with his girlfriend for talking to Aunt Cam."

"Did he now?" Sara asked. She motioned Cameron over to her. "Everyone, this is Cameron Lane, a friend of mine from L.A."

Cameron gave them a quick wave and said, "Hi, everyone."

Sara then pulled Connor closer to her. "And this is Connor, my son." No one said a word until Hodges started laughing. "What's so funny, Hodges?" Sara asked him.

"You know, his name."

"His name? What's so funny about my son's name?"

"Oh, come on. Don't you know?"

"Obviously not."

"His name is Connor. Your name is Sara. Sara & Connor. Sarah Connor. The Terminator. 'I'll be back,'" Hodges said, trying his best to impersonate Arnold Schwarzenegger. "You came back. Get it?"

"I get it, Hodges, but I'm not laughing." Sara bent back down and looked at Connor. "Don't listen to him, honey. There's nothing wrong with your name."

"It's okay, Mom. I liked that movie."

"Really? And since when have you seen The Terminator?"

"I saw it at Tommy's house."

"Tommy's mother let you watch The Terminator?" Connor nodded. "Well, I guess it's a good thing she's back in L.A., or she and I would have to have a long talk about her letting you watch a rated R movie." Sara looked over at Greg and Nick. They still looked like a couple of deer caught in the headlights of a car. Sara knew that she had to talk to them before she left. She knew that she had to try to explain. "Look, Connor, I need to talk to Nick and Greg about this case we're working on before I go. It shouldn't take long. While I'm doing that, maybe Judy could give you and Aunt Cam a tour of the lab. Would you like that?"

Connor nodded. "Can I see a dead body?"

"No, you most certainly cannot."

"Aw, Mom."

"You can 'Aw, Mom' me all you want. You are not going to see a dead body." Sara stood up and turned to Judy. "Can you show them around for me?"

"Sure thing," Judy answered. She motioned for Connor and Cameron to follow her. "Right this way."

As Cameron passed Sara, she leaned over and whispered in Sara's ear, "I'm so sorry, Sare. I didn't realize that you hadn't told them yet."

"It's okay," Sara whispered back. "It's not your fault; it's mine." Sara turned to Greg and Nick and asked, "Do you want to do this in Catherine's office?"

"That would probably be the best place," Nick responded. Greg didn't say anything, but he followed Nick and Sara as they walked down the hall.

As Sara walked into Catherine's office, she took a deep breath and thought here goes nothing.

* * *

"Okay, I'm just going to say what everyone else is thinking. What the hell, Sara?" Nick asked, as he sat down behind Catherine's desk. Sara took a seat across from him, as did Greg.

"I tried to tell you that I was a horrible mother. You wouldn't listen," Sara said, staring at the floor.

"I think what Nick meant to say was where did he come from," Greg clarified. "Did you adopt him when you were in California?"

"No."

"Is he a foster kid?"

"No, Greg, he's mine."

"So you gave birth to him?"

"Yes."

"So who's his father?" Nick asked Sara. "Because I'm looking at him, Sara, and I'm thinking about who he looks like, and if I didn't know better, I would swear he was Grissom's."

Sara didn't say anything. She just continued to stare at the floor.

"Sara, he can't be Grissom's, can he?" Greg asked. "I mean, the kid's got to be, what, eight or so?"

"He'll be nine next month."

"So, nine years plus nine months, and you met Grissom when?"

"At the Forensic Academy Conference. Approximately nine years and nine months ago, give or take."

"You mean the two of you…?"

Sara turned to look at Greg. "It was one night, Greg. One stupid night."

"And all this time, you've never said a word," Nick said. "Not one word."

Sara turned her attention back to Nick. "What did you want me to do, Nick, introduce myself the first day here as the woman your boss knocked up?"

"No, but we've worked together for eight years, Sara. We've been friends for eight years. Why didn't you ever say you had a son?"

"I don't know, Nick. Maybe because I was embarrassed."

"Embarrassed you had a son?"

"No, embarrassed that I walked out on him. I haven't exactly been a key part of his life."

"So where has he been all this time?" Greg asked. "Was he with your brother, or did you just stick him in the closet every time we came over?"

"No, he wasn't with my brother, and no, I didn't stick him in the closet."

"Well, did you give him up for adoption then? Was he in foster care? What? Because I don't get it."

"He was with the man he thought was his father."

"What?" Nick and Greg asked simultaneously.

"When Grissom and I met, I was living with someone, a man named Michael Barrett. He was my brother's best friend growing up and a cop with the SFPD."

"Well, why would he have Connor unless he thought…?" Greg asked, his voice trailing off as he realized the answer to his own question.

Sara confirmed Greg's answer. "That he was the father? He did, at least for a little while."

"Did you?"

"At first, when I was pregnant, yeah, I did, but as soon as Connor was born, I knew he wasn't."

"But you told him he was anyway?" Nick asked. Sara nodded in response. "Why would you do that?"

"Because if I told him the truth, he would have killed me."

"Well, of course, he would have been angry with you, Sara, but wouldn't it have been better for everyone involved if you had just told him the truth from the get go?"

"That's not what I meant, Nick. I didn't mean he would have been angry."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I meant exactly what I said. Michael would have killed me. Literally."

"What?"

Sara got up from her chair and walked over to shelves that held her husband's collection of bugs, animals, and other oddities. She fiddled with the jar that held the fetal pig as she talked to Nick and Greg. "You know how I've always taken domestic abuse cases a little too personally?"

"Yeah," Nick answered.

"Turns out it wasn't just because of my father."

"Michael hit you?" Greg asked.

"Among other things," Sara answered. She stopped fiddling with the jar and wrapped her arms around herself, keeping her back to her friends.

"So why would you ever leave your son with him?" Nick asked. "I understand when you were living with him, but once you moved here, why didn't you bring Connor with you?"

"I was going to. I just wanted to talk to Grissom first."

"So Grissom knows about Connor?"

"No."

"But I thought you just said…"

"I tried to tell him, Nick. I tried more times than I could count. He kept blowing me off. Eventually, I just gave up trying."

"And when you gave up trying, you just gave up on your son, too?"

"No," Sara said, turning around to face Nick. "I tried to get him. I tried to bring him back with me, but I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"Michael…he figured out he wasn't Connor's father. He hacked into my email account after I left, found some emails from Grissom, put two and two together, and then got a DNA test to confirm the answer was four. That's when he decided to punish me for my…indiscretion."

"Punish you how?" Greg asked. "Sara, what did he do to you?"

Sara shrugged. She turned back to the shelf and started straightening the butterfly displays. "Physically, nothing I couldn't handle. After awhile, you learn that you can handle almost anything. You learn to disassociate. You learn to just…go away." Sara stopped straightening the shelf and turned towards Greg. "It was, um, the thing he did to me that wasn't physical that I couldn't handle. He filed for custody of Connor. Michael's name was on the birth certificate, so in the eyes of the law, he was Connor's father until proven otherwise. He had a friend of his in the sheriff's department forge some paperwork so that it looked like I got served with the petition and the hearing notice. When I didn't show up for court, the judge awarded Michael custody by default."

"But couldn't you have had that overturned?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, I could have, but Michael had a contingency plan. He was a dirty cop. He still is as far as I know. You name it, he was into it. Drugs. Weapons. Money laundering. The list goes on and on, but Michael was also smart. He made it look like my brother was the one who was doing those things, not him, so when I tried to take Connor a few years ago, he threatened to turn Ritchie into I.A."

"So you just backed off to protect your brother?" Nick asked.

"I didn't really have a choice."

"And your brother let you?"

"No, Ritchie wanted me to fight for Connor. He told me he could handle Michael."

"So then why didn't you?"

"You don't know what it was like, Nick. The things Michael did to me. The things he made me do just so I could see my son. The abuse didn't end when I moved here, and it wasn't just physical abuse. Michael never missed an opportunity to tell me what a horrible mother I was, that I was ruining Connor's life, that I was a danger to him and myself, that I was just like my mother."

"And you believed him?" Nick asked.

Sara shrugged. "Isn't that what all women fear--turning into their mothers? And those are women whose mothers aren't murderers."

"Sara, you're not like your mother," Greg said.

"Aren't I? I look just like her. I lived with a man who beat me, just like she did. Who's to say I won't snap one day and hurt Connor or Ava the way my mother hurt my father?"

"Sara, that will never happen, and you know it."

"No, I don't know it, and neither do you, Greg. If you did, you wouldn't keep asking me if I killed Lady Heather or Grissom."

"It was a joke, Sara. In retrospect, it was a really bad joke, but I didn't mean it. I know you couldn't kill someone."

"Do you, Greg? Do you really know that? Because I don't."

"So what's changed, Sara?" Nick asked. "Obviously, something has, or you wouldn't have Connor now."

"Gee, I don't know, Nick. Maybe it was getting kidnapped by a serial killer, having a car dropped on top of me, nearly drowning, and wandering around the desert for hours looking for help until I passed out from dehydration that did it. Kind of gives you a whole new perspective on life, don't you think?"

"And Michael just let you take him?"

"No, he beat me into a bloody pulp and tried to rape me, if you really must know. He was the reason I almost lost Ava."

"I'm sorry, Sara. I didn't know that."

Sara shrugged. "Why would you?"

"So how did you get Connor back then? Did someone call the police or something?"

Sara laughed. "The police? Michael was the police. The neighbors stopped calling 911 a long time ago. No, let's just say I knew what Michael would do, so I came armed and prepared."

"Did you shoot him?" Greg asked.

"With a taser gun. It gave me enough time to get Connor and get out of there. We made it to LA, and Ritchie took over from there."

"I thought Michael had evidence against Ritchie," Nick said.

"He did, but Ritchie has his own evidence, evidence that would actually hold up in court. After the whole custody debacle came to light, Ritchie transferred to the LAPD. He then spent every free minute he had going back to San Francisco, spying on Michael, and mounting a case against him. It took him a few years, but by the time Connor and I showed up on his doorstep, he had enough to take Michael down."

"So Michael's in jail now?"

"No, at least I don't think so. Ritchie put us up in a hotel room under an assumed name, and then he went to San Francisco and had a little talk with Michael."

"He didn't turn Michael in?" Greg asked.

"No, we didn't want to risk it. Dirty cops tend to have dirty judges as friends. Ritchie didn't want Michael to get off and then come after us, so they made a little deal. Michael would sign over any and all rights he had to Connor and promise to stay away from us in exchange for Ritchie keeping the evidence to himself."

"And you think Michael will stick to that deal?"

"He has so far. Ritchie made copies of the evidence. One's locked away in a safety deposit box. One's with his lawyer, and another one's with a reporter friend of his that works for the San Francisco Chronicle. If anything ever happens to us, anything at all, the copies will be forwarded to Internal Affairs, not to mention splashed all over the front page of the newspaper."

"The only problem with that scenario, Sara, is that Michael could still hurt you," Greg said.

"I guess that's a risk I'll have to take."

"Is that why you didn't bring Connor back with you? You wanted to make sure it was safe first? That Michael wasn't waiting around the corner, ready to ambush you and Connor the minute your brother left?" Nick asked.

"No. Well, maybe a little, but mostly I didn't want him to have to hear me and Grissom fight. Ava's too young to understand what's going on, but Connor's not. The day I took him back, the day I said Michael beat me up and tried to rape me--what I didn't tell you about that day was the reason Michael didn't succeed. Connor was in his bedroom, and he heard us fighting, and he ran into the living room, and he tried to get Michael off of me. He kept kicking Michael, telling him not to hurt me. Michael hit him, and then he went after him with a belt. If it wasn't for Connor, I would have never even had the opportunity to get to the taser gun, and I probably wouldn't be here right now."

"Sara…" Greg said.

"No, it's okay, Greg, really, but Connor still has nightmares about that day. I guess we both do, and I just didn't want him to think Grissom was like that because he's not, just in case you were wondering. He's never laid a hand on me, but I thought he would be here, and I just didn't want Connor to misunderstand the situation." Sara looked at her watch and started backing towards the door. "Look, I know what you both must be thinking. Believe me, it can't be any worse than what I already think of myself. I can give you all the excuses in the world, but at the end of the day the only thing that matters is that I abandoned my son. I left him in the care of a monster. I lied to him. I lied to you, and I lied to Grissom. That pretty much makes me a horrible friend, a horrible wife, and a horrible mother, and I completely understand if you can never forgive me for that because I know I can never forgive myself for what I've done." Sara opened the door and turned to leave. "I'm going to go now before Connor talks Judy into showing him where the bodies are stored. He can be very persuasive when he wants to be." Sara started through the door, but then stopped. She turned to look at Greg and Nick one last time. "I just wanted to thank you for the last eight years. You and Catherine and Warrick and Grissom--you're the only family I've ever really had, and I just wanted to thank you for that."

"Sara, wait," Greg said, getting up from the chair.

"No, don't, Greg. It's okay. I'm okay, really. I'll see the two of you, Monday." Sara gave them one last glance and then left to look for her son.


	44. Chapter 44

"There you are," Sara said to Connor and Cameron. They were standing next to Mandy's computer, watching fingerprints and mug shots scroll across the screen. Sara walked behind Connor and put her hands on his shoulders. Looking down at him, she asked, "Whatcha doing?"

Connor looked up at Sara and smiled. "Mandy took my fingerprints, and now she's showing me how she runs them through the computer to see if I'm a criminal."

"Well, that's pretty cool."

"I know."

"Did you get any hits yet, Mandy?"

Mandy laughed. "No, not yet."

"Did you see anything else cool?" Sara asked Connor.

Connor turned around and looked up at his mother. "Uh-huh. Archie showed me how he can take a picture from a videotape and blow it up and make it all sharp so you can catch the bad guy, just like in the movies, and Bobby gave me and Aunt Cam these big headphones, and we put 'em on, and he shot a gun into this box. It was so cool."

"Sounds like you had fun."

"I did. This place is so much better than the bar, no offense Aunt Cam."

"None taken."

Sara thought about the "who's your baby's daddy" pool and Hodges' quest to out her as a liar. "By any chance, did Wendy or Hodges swab your cheek for DNA?" she asked Connor.

"No, I think Wendy's still mad at Hodges. She didn't want to talk to us much, and Hodges was too busy listening to what you were talking to Nick and Greg about to show us anything"

"Hodges was listening to us?"

"Yep. He had his ear against the door."

"Why am I not surprised?"

"I don't know. Why are you asking me?"

"I'm not. It was a rhetorical question, honey."

"What's a rhetorical question?"

"It's a question you don't expect an answer to."

"Well that's kind of stupid. Why ask someone a question if you don't want him to answer it?"

"I don't know, Connor. It's just something grownups do."

"Well grownups can be kind of stupid then."

"Yeah, I guess we can be." Sara glanced behind her. So far, no one had followed her, not that she had expected anyone to. At least their questions were over for now. She looked back down at Connor. "Well, I'm glad you had fun, kiddo, but it's time to go home."

"Can't we wait until Mandy gets through with my fingerprints?"

"No, honey. You're eight. You're not going to be in there."

"But I'll be nine next month."

"Does that make you any more of a criminal?"

"No."

"Then get your Nintendo, and let's go."

"Okay." Connor got his Nintendo DS off Mandy's desk. "Bye, Mandy," he told her, waving.

"Bye, Connor," Mandy said. "Maybe your mom can bring you by another day, and we'll try again."

"Can you, Mom?"

"We'll see."

"Well, can we at least go see all the lights when it gets dark? Aunt Cam drove us down this street called the Slip…"

"You mean the Strip?"

"The Strip. That's what I said. It was so cool, Mom. There was this big tower like that one in Paris and these big fountains and a volcano and a hot air balloon and all these hotels. Aunt Cam said it was even better at night. Can we go see it tonight? Please, please, please."

"We'll see."

"Ooh, and I forgot the best part. There was an M&M World. Can you believe that, Mom? A whole store with nothing but M&Ms in it. Can we go there, too?"

"We'll see, Connor."

"We'll see. We'll see. We'll see. I guess that's something grownups just say, too. Like a rhetorical statement, instead of a rhetorical question."

"Yeah, I guess it kind of is."

"Does that mean we can't go?"

"No, it means we'll see, Connor."

Connor crossed his arms and pouted. "Figures."

* * *

Hodges walked into Catherine's office and sat down in the chair Sara had vacated. "Well, I guess you didn't see that coming."

Nick looked at Hodges, shook his head, and then looked at Greg. "Greg, did you hear me say come in?"

Greg glared at Hodges. "No, I didn't. What do you want, Hodges?"

"I wanted to see what we were going to do about it."

"Do about what, Hodges?" Greg asked.

"Uh, Sara and the little bomb she just dropped," Hodges answered.

"There's nothing to be done, Hodges," Nick said.

"What do you mean there's nothing to be done? She lied to you. She lied to me. Most importantly, she lied to Grissom."

"She didn't lie, Hodges," Greg said.

"So you knew she had another child then?" Hodges asked Greg.

"No," Greg answered.

"Did you?" Hodges asked Nick.

"No," Nick answered.

"Well, then she lied."

"No, Hodges, she didn't lie. She just didn't tell us everything," Greg said.

"Are you kidding me? You can't possibly have forgiven her already. I mean, you're her supposed best friend," Hodges said, looking at Nick. "And you're like her loyal sidekick or something," he said, looking at Greg. "She lied to the both of you for eight years, and you're perfectly okay with that?"

"It doesn't matter if we're okay with it, Hodges. All that matters is if she's okay. If you had any real friends, you would understand that." Greg stood up. "I've got to get out of here before I hurt someone."

Hodges watched Greg walk out of the office and then turned to Nick. "You can't possibly feel the same way."

Nick shrugged. "Why does it matter so much to you, Hodges? Isn't it enough that you made Sara's first week back a living hell? Now you're what, planning to launch some one-man campaign to pay Sara back for not telling you she had a child? Why should she have told you anything? What makes you so damn special?"

"It's not me. It's Grissom. Someone has to watch out for him."

"So who died and made you that person?"

"Well, you're obviously not going to do it. Sanders isn't going to do it. I guess that leaves me."

"Of course it does. Listen, Hodges, Sara's going through enough right now. She doesn't need you making things worse for her or her kids. You keep on hurting her, and I'm going to start hurting you. Get it?"

"I get it. You're threatening me."

"No, I'm just telling you the way it is. Now is that all, Hodges, because I have things to do?"

Hodges stood up. "I can take a hint." He walked towards the door, stopped, and turned to Nick. "You know, I told Grissom to just let her go, but he wouldn't listen. Now he's going to be stuck raising some other guy's kid. He's not going to like that."

"Who said it's some other guy's kid?"

"What?"

"Who said Connor isn't Grissom's?"

"Well, that would mean he and Sara…all those years ago…"

"That's exactly what it would mean, Hodges."

"But the boss would never do that. He wouldn't sleep with her and then offer her a job."

"Well, apparently he did, Hodges."

"No."

"Yes." Nick got up, walked over to Hodges, who was still standing in the doorway, and took hold of the door. "You know, next time you might try putting a glass against the door, Hodges, instead of just your ear. You might just hear more. Have a nice day," Nick told him. He then shut the door in Hodges's face.


	45. Chapter 45

_Interstate 5-South_

_Somewhere near San Jose_

Grissom squinted against the glare on the horizon and tried to yank the rental car's visor further down in front of him. Unfortunately for him, the visor wouldn't budge, so he had to settle for what little comfort his sunglasses provided. The California sun wasn't exactly doing wonders for his hangover. His head was already pounding, and he still had another five or six hours of driving yet to go.

Grissom realized that draining the hotel mini bar one liquor bottle at a time had been a really bad idea. He seemed to be having a lot of those lately, bad ideas. He had hoped that the alcohol would make him forget, but it hadn't. Instead, he had spent most of the night thinking about Sara and how they had gotten here. Asleep, awake, it didn't matter what stage of consciousness he had been in. In the end, she had remained on his mind.

His thoughts kept returning to that day she had come to his office. She and Catherine had caught Holly's killer, and Grissom had thought that she was on her way back to San Francisco. He had been wrong. He had been sitting at his desk, finishing some paperwork, when he had heard a knock on the office door. He had looked up and seen Sara standing in the doorway.

_"Hey, do you have a minute?" she asked him._

_"Sure, come in. I thought you'd be on a plane to San Francisco by now."_

_Sara sat down in one of the office chairs and started picking at her nails. "I will be in a few hours. I just, um, I wanted to talk to you about something first."_

_Grissom noticed the fidgeting and the frown on Sara's face. "Is something wrong?"_

_"No, not really. It's just…Well, I wanted to talk to you about that night. The one in San Francisco. The one where we, um…"_

_"Yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that, too."_

_"Really?" Sara asked, finally smiling at him._

_"Yeah, about that night. It was a mistake, Sara. I should have never let things go that far."_

_"Oh," Sara said, as her smile changed back into a frown._

_"I was your teacher. You were my student. I should have never let it happen, and I'm sorry. I would take it back if I could, but I can't."_

_"Um, okay."_

_"I would like to try and make it up to you though."_

_"Oh, um…" Sara said, still at a loss for words._

_"With Holly gone, there's an opening on graveyard. I'd like you to fill it."_

_"You're offering me a job?" _

_"Yes. I know it probably doesn't come close to making up for that night."_

_"You have no idea."_

_Grissom frowned at the comment but continued. "I'd like think it was a start, though. We have a great lab here, Sara, one of the best, and I hope one day to make it the best. I'd like you to be a part of that."_

_"I don't know."_

_"You don't have to give me an answer now. Just think about it."_

_Sara stood up. "I will. I, um, I have to go. I don't want to miss my plane."_

_"I thought you needed to say something."_

_"Yeah, I did, but, um, it's not important now."_

Grissom realized now that what Sara had had to say to him had been important. She had come to his office to tell him what they had really done that night, what or whom they had made, and he had blown it. He had told her that that night was a mistake he would take back if he could. All Sara had heard was that their son was a mistake he would take back if he could.

Grissom thought about the other times Sara had come to him, the times she had tried to talk to him about something other than work, the times he had pushed her away. The day the lab blew up--she had told him later that she had been on her way to see him then. He remembered that afterwards she had asked him out to dinner. He had just assumed that Sara had wanted more than just dinner, like she had that night in San Francisco, and turned her down. Maybe she had wanted more, but now he knew that she was also trying to tell him something. She had said something about him being too late. By the time he figured out what to do about them, it might be too late, something like that.

Was he too late now, Grissom wondered. He hoped not. Although his first instinct had been to just give up and go home, he had nevertheless found himself getting on Interstate 5 and heading south to Southern California. The situation they were in, what had happened to Connor--that was as much his fault as it was Sara's. She may have never told him that they had a son, but in retrospect he knew that it wouldn't have mattered if she had because he had never really listened to her. He had to at least give Sara a chance to explain. He had to finally listen to what she had to say, to make up for all the years that he hadn't. Where they went from there, he didn't know, but there was only one way to find out.

Grissom looked at the sign ahead. Los Angeles. 290 miles.


	46. Chapter 46

_Interstate-15 South_

_Just outside of Las Vegas_

"Well, that's a new development," Brass said to himself, as he hung up his cell phone. Nick had just finished telling him about Connor.

So Gil and Sara have a son, a nearly nine-year-old son. Hmm. Brass supposed that explained a lot. Why Sara had come to Vegas to begin with. Why she had left. Why there were times, even when she smiled, that she seemed so sad. He had always suspected that there had been something between Gil and Sara before she moved here, something more than just friendship or a student-teacher relationship. At least now, he finally had confirmation of that fact.

A son and a daughter. Brass shook his head at the thought. A month ago, Gil had had no one. Now he had an instant family waiting for him at home; he just didn't know it. Brass wasn't sure how his old friend was going to handle that news. Would he embrace Sara's return--would he embrace their family--or would he be so wounded by her lies that he'd push all three of them away? Brass hoped that Gil would do the right thing. He hoped that Gil wouldn't let his pride get in the way of him having a family, that he would stand up and be the husband and father Sara and the kids deserved, but these days Brass just didn't know what Gil would do.

If anyone had asked Brass a year ago if he thought that Gil would ever cheat on Sara, he would have said that there was no way in hell. As he now knew, he would have been wrong. Gil had cheated on Sara with Lady Heather of all people, and then he had done his best to disappear. No, Brass had no idea what his friend was going to do when he heard the news. He just hoped he could talk Gil into going back to Vegas with him and hearing Sara out. If he could coax a confession out of a serial killer, he ought to be able to talk a friend into going home to his wife and kids. Otherwise, he had just filled up his gas tank for nothing.

* * *

Sara looked in the visor's mirror and wiped the tears from her face. Connor had wanted to ride home with her, but she had felt the tears coming and talked him into going with Cammie. "You know how bad Aunt Cam is with directions," she had told her son outside the lab. Cameron had started to protest, but then she had seen the look on Sara's face and stopped. "Your mom's right, Connor. If you don't come with me and tell me where to turn, I'm liable to end up in Reno before I end up at your house." Connor had reluctantly taken the written directions out of Sara's hands and gotten in the car with Cammie.

Sara had hated doing that to Connor, but she knew what was coming. She was getting pretty good at predicting the crying spells, the emotional waterfalls as she was starting to call them, but she wasn't getting any better at stopping them. Right on cue, the tears had started to fall the minute she shut the car door, and they were only now beginning to stop. Sara dabbed at her face some more with a tissue. She didn't want Connor to think that she wasn't happy he was home. She was happy. She was just scared she had lost two friends today.

Connor knocked on the driver's side window. "Are you coming, Mom?" he asked.

Sara grabbed her bag, shoved the tissue in it, and opened the door. "Yeah, baby, I'm coming."

Connor grabbed her hand in an attempt to pull her out of the car but then dropped it when he saw her face. "You've been crying."

"No, I haven't."

"Yes, you have. I can tell. Your eyes are all red."

"I'm just tired, baby. That's all."

"You're crying because you're tired?" Connor asked. He didn't look like he believed Sara.

"Yeah. You know how your sister gets real grumpy and cries a lot right before she takes a nap?"

"Yeah."

"Well, sometimes adults get like that, too, when they're really tired."

"Oh." Connor seemed to think about what Sara had just said. "I can watch Ava if you want to take a nap," he offered.

"I appreciate that, honey, but I'll be fine, just as soon as I make some coffee."

"Coffee's gross."

"I'll remind you of that the first time you ask me to take you to Starbucks."

When Sara got out of the car, Connor ran over to Cameron. "Aunt Cam and I brought you some breakfast."

Cameron held up a white box and smiled. "Randy's Donuts," she said.

"Yum," Sara responded. She looked at Connor and asked, "Did you have some on the way here?"

"Uh-huh," he answered.

"Well, I guess that explains why you're bouncing off the walls."

As Sara watched Connor run up the stairs and wait for her by the front door, Cameron walked over and linked her arm through Sara's. "Okay, before you start with how donuts have no nutritional value whatsoever and Connor's a growing boy and all that other mom-stuff, I just figured it would be his and you last chance to have Randy's for awhile. Besides, didn't you tell Ritchie to do whatever he had to do to cheer Connor up?"

"Yes."

"Well, donuts cheer everyone up."

"Yeah, I guess they do."

"Besides, you look like you could use a few donuts, and not just for cheering up purposes. When's the last time you ate something?"

"I ate earlier."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I ate a sandwich." Cameron raised her eyebrows in response, not believing Sara. Sara sighed and told her the rest of the truth. "Okay, so I didn't exactly keep the sandwich down, but I did chew it up and swallow it."

"Sara."

"Hey, before you go and yank out that psych degree of yours, I just want to state for the record that I'm not bulimic, if that's what you're thinking. I just had to go somewhere I didn't want to go, and it made me nauseous, that's all."

"And where was that, work?" Cameron joked.

"No. Red Rock Canyon."

Cameron's demeanor turned serious, as she realized why it was that Sara hadn't wanted to go to Red Rock Canyon. "Isn't that where…?" she asked.

"Yeah, it is."

"Oh. Well, in that case, I'm going to stick the psych degree back in my purse, but only if you promise to eat the donuts."

"I will. I swear."

"Good. Now come on. I'm dying to see where you and Dr. McBuggy live."


	47. Chapter 47

Greg took a deep breath and knocked on Sara's door. He didn't know what he was going to say to her; he just didn't want to leave things the way they were. He was almost relieved when Cameron opened the door with Ava on her hip.

"It's Greg, right?" she asked him.

"Right."

"If you're just here to give Sara grief, you can go. She's been giving herself enough grief for what's she done; she doesn't need you or anybody else adding to it."

"I'm not here to do that."

"So then why are you here?"

"Sara said she needed help moving furniture. I told her I would help."

"Hmm." Cameron studied Greg for a minute and then opened the door wider. "Okay, I'm going to choose to believe you, Greg. Come in. Sara's in the shower."

Greg followed Cameron and Ava into the townhouse. They stood in the kitchen and watched Connor play with Hank in the living room. "He looks happy," Greg told Cameron.

"He is. He's home. I don't know what Sara told you, but I suspect it was something along the lines of she's a horrible mother, she's not cut out to be a mother, she was born without a mother gene, something like that."

"Yeah, it was something along those lines."

"Well, she's not, you know. She's actually very good with him. She just doesn't believe it. It took Michael Barrett eight years to convince her that she wasn't fit to have a child. I just hope it doesn't take another eight years for us to convince her that she is." Cameron looked over at Greg. "You could help her with that, you know. She needs her friends right now. She needs support."

"I know. That's why I'm here."

"Good. Just don't forget it." Cameron left the kitchen and walked into the living room. "Hey, Connor, we have company."

"I know."

"Well, don't be rude. Come say hello."

Connor sighed and put down the chew toy he'd been throwing to Hank. He walked over to Cameron and Greg, crossed his arms, and looked up at Greg. "Did you make my mother cry?" Connor asked him.

"What?" Greg asked.

"Did you make my mother cry?"

"No, I don't think so. Why?"

"Because she was crying in the car, and she wasn't crying before she spoke to you."

"Did she say she was crying because of me?"

"No. She said she was crying because she was tired, but I don't believe her."

"Oh. I don't think I made her cry. If I did, I didn't mean to."

"Yeah, well don't let it happen again."

"I won't."

Connor returned to the living room. Greg looked at Cameron and said, "I guess I'm in trouble."

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that. He's a little precocious."

"So I've noticed."

Sara came down the stairs a few minutes later in a t-shirt and jeans, her hair still wet from the shower. She saw Greg standing in the kitchen and stopped in place. "Greg, what are you doing here?"

"I thought you might still need help with that furniture."

"I do. I just didn't expect you to, um, come."

"I said I would."

Sensing the tension between them, Cameron said, "It looks like the two of you could use a few minutes alone. Hey, Connor, what do you say we go take Hank for a walk?"

"Okay," Connor answered, running into the kitchen. "Where's his leash, Mom?"

"I think I left it on the table by the door." Connor left in search of the leash.

"Do you want me to take Ava with us?" Cameron asked Sara.

"No, I've got her," Sara said, reaching for her daughter.

"All right, but just keep her away from the donuts."

"Trust me. I've learned my lesson."

"Did I miss something?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, there was a little incident earlier with some donuts. I was trying to eat one and hold Ava at the same time. Big mistake."

"Yeah, Ava grabbed hold of the donut, smooshed it all up, and then smeared it all over Mom's face. It was so funny," Connor clarified, running back into the kitchen with the leash. He held the leash up. "Found it." Sara took the leash from Connor and called Hank into the kitchen. She hooked the dog's collar up to the leash and gave the leash to Cameron. "I want to hold it," Connor told Sara.

"Okay, but you can't let go. Hank could run off and get hit by a car."

"I won't. I promise." Connor looked at Greg. "Remember what I said," he told Greg.

"I will," Greg responded.

Sara looked at Connor and Greg, a perplexed look on her face. As soon as Cameron and Connor went out the front door, she asked Greg, "What did he say to you?"

"Just to not make you cry again. Apparently, I already did that once today."

"Oh, that. I tried to tell him I was just tired. I guess he didn't believe me."

"I'm sorry I made you cry."

"Don't worry about it, Greg. I cry all the time now. I get a paper cut, and I cry like I cut off my arm. I wouldn't take it too personally."

"He's very protective of you."

"He shouldn't be. It's not like I've done such a great job of protecting him."

"I'm sure you did the best you could, considering."

"It's okay, Greg. I don't expect you to be nice about it. I know what I did. You don't have to stay either. I think Cam and I can get the furniture."

"No, I want to stay."

"Why?"

"Because you asked me for help. You know I've never been able to say no to you."

"Oh. Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Would you prefer me to be mean?"

"No. Maybe. I don't know. I just expected you to be a lot madder than you are."

"I was mad for like a minute. Then I got over it."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Because you're Sara. I can't stay mad at you for too long."

"But I lied to you."

"Not really. I mean, I never actually asked you if you had children. I just assumed you didn't, and you know what they say about assuming."

"Yeah, I guess I do."

"I just wish that you would have felt that you could have told me. On New Year's Eve, you told me everything else. Why not that?"

"I don't know. Maybe I thought you'd kick me out in the rain or something. I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"I wouldn't have."

"I didn't know that."

"You should have." Sara shrugged in response. "Sara, not everyone's like your dad. Not everyone's like Michael Barrett."

"I know."

"I would never intentionally hurt you. You've got to know that." Sara shrugged again. "Look, Sara. I can't say that I understand what you did or why you did it, and I can't say that I would have done the same thing in your shoes, but the thing is, I've never been in your shoes. You know, I had a normal childhood, at least as normal as anyone can have. I wasn't abused. I didn't see anyone get murdered. I didn't get bounced from foster home to foster home, and I didn't grow up and move in with someone who beat the hell out of me. Because of that, it's really not my place to judge you for how you dealt with all you've had to deal with. All I can do is be your friend and be here if you need me."

"Thanks," Sara said, as she started to cry.

"Great, I made you cry again. Your kid's gonna kill me." Sara laughed, grabbing a paper towel off the kitchen counter and dabbing at her eyes. "Seriously, Sara. You should have seen the look he gave me when he told me to not let it happen again. I'm really scared he's going to hurt me if he comes back and sees you crying."

"I'm trying to stop."

"Well try a little harder, or I'm going to be wearing some really nice cement shoes an hour from now. Your kid's like a little Sam Braun in the making."

Sara laughed some more. "I'll tell Catherine you said that."

"Don't. I'm scared of her, too."

* * *

"Hey, Connor, give me a hug. It's time for me to go," Cameron told Connor. Connor got up off the couch, hugged Cameron, and then returned to his Playstation game.

"Are you sure you have to go?" Sara asked her.

"Yes, I'm sure. We start shooting on Later Gator Monday. I need my beauty sleep."

"All the sleep in the world's not going to help you," Connor commented from the couch.

"Ha ha, brat." Cameron saw the concerned look on Sara's face and hugged her. She whispered in Sara's ear, "Hey, don't look so scared. It's going to be okay. The two of you need some alone time together."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do," Sara whispered back.

"Be his mother." When Sara made a noise under her breath, Cameron pulled back and looked at her. "Hey, you've been alone with Ava for over a week now, and you didn't screw that up. You're not going to screw this up either."

"But babies are easy. You've just got to feed them and change them and make sure they don't fall on their heads. What am I supposed to do with an eight year old?"

"I don't know. Go play a video game with him. Read him a book. Take him to M&M World. Rent a movie. Just hang out on the couch and watch Nickelodeon. It's up to you."

"Okay," Sara said. "I think I can do that. I think."

"Seriously, Sara, you're going to do fine. You've just got to start believing in yourself more and not in that person you've built up in your mind. You're not her. You're not your mother, so just get over it already and go in there and spend some quality time with your son."

"Okay."

"And you might want to breathe while you're at it. You're looking a little purple." Sara took a deep breath and let it out as instructed. "See, better already."

Sara wasn't so sure it was.

_

* * *

_

Los Angeles, California

Richard picked up the framed picture of him and Sara from the side table and sat down with it on the couch. His mother had taken it on one of their trips to the beach. He was six at the time, and Sara was two. It was Sara's first time in the ocean, at least since she had started walking. Although she had begged their mother to let her go in--"I'm a big girl, Mama. I can do it," she had pleaded--when they had actually walked up to the edge of the water, Sara had changed her mind about going in and refused to let go of her brother's hand.

Apparently, some things never change, Richard thought. Cammie had just called to tell him that she was leaving Las Vegas and would be home in a few hours. She had also said that Sara was freaking out about being alone with Connor. He had been afraid of that. He knew Sara was going to be fine, just as he had known it that day at the beach all those years ago. The only problem was that Sara didn't know it. She had always been good at putting on a brave front. It was the follow through that sometimes caused her to stumble.

Richard heard a knock on the door and got up to answer it.

"Richard Sidle?" the man at the door asked him.

"Yes."

The man flashed his badge. "Jim Brass. I'm with the Las Vegas Police Department."

Richard recognized the name and became concerned. "Has something happened to my sister?" he asked.

"No. No. Sara's fine, or as fine as can be expected."

"So then why are you here?"

"Let's just say you're about to get a visit from a friend of mine who's looking for his wife, and I just want to make sure he finds her."

So do I, Richard thought. "Come on in."

_

* * *

_

Kit Kat Bar, L.A.

"Here goes nothing," Grissom thought, as he walked into the bar. He looked around the room. He didn't see Sara either behind the bar or on top of it. He guessed he was just going to have to ask where she was.

Grissom walked up to the bar and got the attention of the blonde bartender. "Excuse me. I'm looking for my wife," he said. Even though the place was not yet packed, he still had to raise his voice to be heard over the loud rock music.

The bartender rolled her eyes at him. "Like I haven't heard that line before."

"It's not a line. It's the truth. I was told she worked here."

"Really? What's her name?"

"Sara. Sara Sidle. She may be going by Sara Grissom. I'm not sure."

"You're married to Sara?" the bartender asked, clearly not believing him.

"Yes."

"Right, and I'm married to Brad Pitt. Just don't tell Angelina. She might go all Tomb Raider on me." The bartender started to walk to other end of the bar.

Grissom tried to stop her. "Wait. I've got proof." Grissom pulled out his wallet and showed the bartender a picture of him and Sara. "See, that's us on our wedding day."

The bartender looked at the picture and dismissed it. "Please, like that proves anything. Any idiot with Photoshop could have cut Sara's head off the picture of her in our calendar and pasted it on some other woman's body. For all I know, you're just some crazy stalker who's obsessed with her. Like I'm going to tell you where she is."

"I'm not a crazy stalker. I work for the Las Vegas Police Department. See, look," Grissom said, as he showed the bartender his lab credentials.

"You don't look like a cop."

"I'm not. I'm a CSI."

"Like on that TV show?"

"Which one?"

"You know, that one with Marina from Guiding Light. I can't think of her real name. Hey, Cindy, what's the name of that actress on that show, the one set in New York?" she asked another blonde bartender.

"Melina Kanakaredes, and she didn't play Marina. She played Marina's mother, Eleni," the other bartender answered.

"Whatever. Same difference. Like I watch that show anyway. I'm a General Hospital fan."

"Good for you," Grissom commented.

"So are you like one of those guys on that show?"

"Sort of."

"Well then tell me this. Melina what's-her-name has all that hair, and she never pulls it back at a crime scene. How is it that she doesn't end up with guts and goo in her hair all the time?"

"Because it's a TV show, and they're not always true to life. A real CSI would pull her hair back."

"That's what I thought. Okay, so you answered my question. That still doesn't mean you know Sara."

"You're right. It doesn't. Look, I'm just going to go sit over there and wait for her to come in, that way you don't have to tell me where she is or break any confidences. How about that?"

The bartender shrugged. "It's a free country. Wait all you want. Are you going to buy something?"

"Sure. Why not? Give me a beer."

"Finally, something I can do for you. Coming right up."

* * *

Cindy looked over at the man sitting in the booth. Obviously, he had no plans of leaving any time soon. She picked up the phone and dialed someone she knew would want to know that. That someone answered the phone.

"Hey, Ritchie, it's Cindy Matthews. We've got ourselves a little problem up here at the bar, and I thought you'd want to know about it. Guess who Mindy was just talking to."

* * *

Richard hung up the phone and looked at Brass.

"So he's finally here?" Brass asked him.

"Yeah, it look like it."

"Well, it's about time."

* * *

Cindy Matthews sat down in the booth across from Grissom and handed him a folded up piece of paper.

"What's this?" he asked her.

"You wanted to know where Sara is. There's your answer. That's her brother's address."

Grissom opened up the piece of paper and looked at the address. "Why are you giving this to me?"

"Because I can. Consider this your lucky day."


	48. Chapter 48

_"Wake up, Mom! Wake up!"_

_Sara slowly opened her eyes. She must have passed out again. The rain had gotten so heavy that the water was actually starting to stand beneath the car. Sara knew her face was laying in one of the puddles. The water was inching its way into her respiratory system with every breath she took. If she didn't find a way out soon, if she didn't get her head out of that puddle, she would surely drown._

_A loud clap of thunder shook the car, and a voice behind her screamed in response. Sara tried to lift her head out of the puddle, but the effort only caused more water to enter her mouth and nose. She started coughing uncontrollably and laid her head back down on the ground. _

_Sara felt herself falling back into the drug-induced haze when she heard the voice scream again. "Mommy!" the voice pleaded. Sara tried to lift her head one more time. She knew that voice. It was her son's voice, but that was impossible. Connor hadn't been with her and Ava. He hadn't been at the mall._

_"Con-Connor?" Sara asked, as she tried unsuccessfully to look behind her._

_"Mom, help me. Please."_

_It was Connor. Sara tried to move her arms, but they were still pinned by the sides of the car. "Baby, I'm trying. I can't move. What's wrong? What did she do to you?"_

_"I can't move my legs. She put the car on top of them." Sara felt sick when she heard Connor's answer. She had to think. She had to find a way to get them out of there. "I'm scared, Mom."_

_"I know, baby. I know. Are you laying on your back or on your stomach?"_

_"On my back."_

_"Can you move your arms?"_

_Connor sniffed. Sara knew in that instant he had been crying. She didn't need to see his face to know that it was streaked with tears. "Ye-yes."_

_"Okay, baby. I need you to try and dig your legs out for me."_

_"I can't." _

_"Yes, you can, baby. It's just like that time we went to the beach and you buried your legs in the sand. You just need to sit up and dig."_

_"It hurts."_

_"I know, baby, but it's the only way."_

_A coyote howled in the distance, and Connor screamed again._

Sara sat upright on the sofa and looked around the living room. The lights and television had been turned off, and Connor was nowhere to be seen. Sara remembered putting Ava down for a nap and curling up on the sofa with Connor, Hank, and a bowl of popcorn to watch a movie. She didn't remember too much after that.

"Connor?" Sara asked, but her son did not answer her. Sara stood up and looked around the dark room. She didn't see Connor anywhere. With the nightmare still fresh in her mind, Sara tried not to panic as she walked towards the stairs. What if something's happened to him, she thought. What if he hurt himself? What if Michael found us? With each step she took, Sara found it harder and harder to breathe.

When she got to the top of the stairs, Sara threw open Connor's bedroom door. Both his bed and room were empty. Sara ran to the next room and looked in. Ava's crib was also empty. Sara turned around and looked at the last closed door. She shut her eyes and said a little prayer, as she wrapped her hand around the door knob. "Please let them be in there," she whispered.

Sara opened the door and looked in. Connor was sitting on the bed, watching SpongeBob SquarePants on the TV. He had propped Ava up on the pillow next to him, and an empty bottle sat on the bedside table. Hank wagged his tail at her from the end of the bed.

"Mom, you're up," Connor said when he saw Sara standing in the doorway.

Relieved to see her children alive and well, Sara sat down next to Connor and tried not to cry. I'm a total failure as a mother, Sara thought to herself. Our first night alone together, and I lose them both. "Yeah, I guess I fell asleep. I really wanted to watch that movie with you."

"It's okay. I didn't mind."

"You should have woken me up."

"You said you were tired. I wanted to let you sleep."

Sara looked at the alarm clock. "It's getting late. I should probably change and feed your sister."

"I already did."

"You did?"

Connor nodded. "It wasn't that hard. I've seen you do it a hundred times. The diaper was kind of gross, but I changed it anyway. I burped her, too."

"Wow, okay. I guess the two of you don't need me then. Did you eat, too?"

"No. I wanted to wait for you. You said we could get pizza."

"We can." Sara reached out and stroked her son's cheek. "Do you still want to see those lights?"

"Yeah."

"Well, go get your shoes on, and we'll go. I'll get us a pizza on the way back."

"Cool, Mom. Thanks," Connor said, as he jumped off the bed and raced out of the room.

Sara scooped up Ava and kissed her forehead. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry."

* * *

Grissom knocked on the apartment door and was greeted by a man who looked a lot like his wife.

"Gil Grissom, I presume?" the man asked him.

Grissom nodded. "Richard Sidle?" he asked back.

"That's me." Richard opened the door wider. "Come in. We've been waiting for you."

"We?" Grissom asked. He walked around Richard and saw the answer to his own question. Brass was sitting on the sofa, looking right at him. What's he doing here, Grissom thought, and where's Sara.

"Long time, no see, Gil," Brass said. "What took you so long?"

Richard shut the door behind him and said, "I'd like to know the answer to that question myself."

* * *

As Sara pulled into the driveway, Connor hit the back of her seat with his hand and then pointed at the townhouse. "Look, Mom. Someone's waiting for us on the steps."

"I see that, Connor." Sara looked where Connor was pointing; it was Nick. "Can you carry the pizza for me so I can get your sister?"

"Uh-huh."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Connor got out of the car and then opened the front passenger door. He grabbed the pizza box, ran up the driveway, and started talking to Nick.

Sara didn't move as quickly. She wasn't sure if Nick's visit was a good thing or a bad thing. She hoped it was the former, but she feared it was the latter. Sara got Ava out of her car seat, grabbed the diaper bag out of the floor board, and followed Connor up the driveway.

"Hey, Nick," she said.

"Hey, Sara," Nick responded.

"What are you doing here?"

"I was hoping we could talk."

"We were just about to eat," Sara said, nodding in the direction of the pizza box.

"It's pizza," Connor told Nick, holding up the box so he could see it.

"I see that," Nick told him.

"You can have some if you want, if you promise not to make her cry."

Nick looked down at Connor and then back up at Sara and smiled. "I promise."


	49. Chapter 49

Sara had come in and put Ava in her playpen. She and Nick had then sat in the living room, making small talk while they ate pizza and watched Connor try to eat and play a video game at the same time. When they had finished the last bite, Sara had gotten up and thrown the box away. She was dreading what was coming next, but she knew it was time. She returned to the living and addressed her son. "All right, Connor. Wrap the game up. It's time for you to take a bath."

"Aw, Mom," Connor protested. "Can't I just finish this level?"

"No, you most certainly cannot. You can save the game and finish the level tomorrow. Right now you're getting a bath."

"But, Mom, baths are for girls and babies."

"So take a shower then. Either way you're getting clean."

"Fine. Fine. Fine," Connor said, realizing that he wasn't going to win the fight. He saved the video game and got up from the floor. "I'm going," he told Sara, as he started towards the stairs.

Sara turned to Nick. "If you could just give me a minute to go start his shower, then we can talk, if you still want to."

"I do," Nick answered. "It's no problem. I can wait."

Connor stopped at the foot of the stairs. He obviously had other ideas and wanted Sara and Nick to know it. "But it is a problem, Mom. I'm in the third grade. I can start my own shower."

"I know you're in the third grade. I gave birth to you, remember? Just humor me and let me start your shower. You've never taken one here before, and I just want to make sure you don't burn yourself."

"Fine. Whatever," Connor said, throwing up his hands in surrender. "Bye, Nick. I have to go get clean now," Connor said, rolling his eyes at the prospect.

"Bye, Connor."

Sara followed her son up the stairs. When she returned a few minutes later, she sat across from Nick and asked, "So?"

"So I was thinking," Nick responded.

"And?"

"And…so you had a child, and you didn't tell me. Big whoop. I mean, if you think about it, you actually kind of did me a favor."

"Really? And how's that?"

"Well, for starters, think of all the birthday presents you saved me from buying. I mean, a chemistry set is only good for one gift. I would have had to come up with at least six others. Do you have any idea how hard it's been for me to come up with something for Lindsey year after year after year? Not to mention, you and I--we actually got to have adult conversations. I didn't have to hear you drone on and on about breast-feeding and school plays and bad babysitters and all that other stuff parents seem to think all of us non-parents want to know about."

"That's it?"

"Well, you also spared me seven years of picturing you and Grissom doing the nasty. That image could of scarred me for life. I can barely get it out of my head as is, and I've only known about y'all for a year."

"No. What I meant was is that all you feel?"

"Well, no. I'm also happy for you that you have your son back and that this Michael person is out of your life and can't hurt you anymore."

Sara couldn't believe what she was hearing. "I don't get it," she told Nick.

"Get what?"

"You. Greg. Why you're both okay with this."

"Would you prefer that we never speak to you again?"

"No, but it's kind of what I expected."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess because I wouldn't want to speak to me."

"Would you want to speak to me?"

"What?"

"If the roles were reversed, would you want to speak to me? Let's say I just told you that I had an eight-year-old son back in Texas, a son I never told you about, and that I only visit him a couple of times a year. Would you stop speaking to me? Would you just throw away eight years of friendship because you wished I would have told you sooner?"

"No. Of course not."

"So why do you expect me to?"

"I don't know. I guess because men are allowed to be separated from their children, while women are expected to stay and be all warm and fuzzy and maternal, even when they're not."

"Well, that's kind of sexist, don't you think?"

Sara shrugged. "Maybe. It doesn't mean it's not true."

"You seemed pretty warm and fuzzy and maternal with Connor a few minutes ago."

"Then I guess I'm a better actress than I thought because I have no idea what I'm doing."

"You could have fooled me."

"Well, you should have been here a couple of hours ago when I woke up on the sofa and realized I had no idea where my children were. I was so warm and fuzzy and maternal that my eight-year-old son had to go upstairs, get his five-month-old sister out of her crib, change her, feed her, burp her, and play with her while I took myself a nap."

"So you fell asleep. Big deal. It doesn't mean that you're a bad mother, Sara."

"No, but abandoning him does."

"Wow, you're just taking over where Michael left off."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't need anyone else to beat you up, Sara. You seem to be doing a pretty good job of it yourself."

"I'm not beating myself up. I'm just stating the facts."

"No, you're setting yourself up for a self-fulfilling prophecy. You're going to tell yourself that you're a bad mother over and over again until you actually become one, which is ridiculous, Sara. I've seen you with Connor. I've seen you with Ava. You're not a bad mother. You're actually a very good one. Maybe you've done some things that you're not proud of, but so what. Who hasn't? What matters is that you're here now, and your son is upstairs taking a shower, and your daughter is over there in the corner playing with her teething ring. The rest is just…history."

"I wish I could believe that."

"You can. You've just got to try."

"Easier said than done," Sara said, looking down at the floor.

"Well, at least I know what to get you for your birthday next week."

"What, a chemistry set?" Sara asked, looking back up at Nick.

"No. Self-esteem in a box."

"They actually sell that?"

A few seconds later, Connor came bouncing into the room in Spiderman pajamas. "I'm all clean," he proclaimed.

"Come here," Sara told him. Connor walked over to the chair where Sara sat. "Let me smell your breath." Connor took a deep breath and blew it out in Sara's face. "You didn't brush your teeth, did you?" she asked.

"No," Connor admitted reluctantly.

"Connor."

"I know. I know. I'm going," Connor said, as he headed back upstairs.

"You see, that was warm and fuzzy and maternal," Nick told Sara.

"You didn't smell his breath."


	50. Chapter 50

"Is Sara here?" Grissom asked his brother-in-law.

"Not at the moment," Ritchie answered.

"Do you know where she is? I went by the bar, but she wasn't there either."

Ritchie glanced over at Brass, who gave a slight nod in response. Ritchie then responded, "Yeah, I know where my sister is."

"And where exactly would that be?"

"You'll get an answer to that question when I get an answer to mine. It's been what, 10 months since my sister left, and you're just now getting around to seeing her. So like your friend said, what took you so long?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Ritchie asked. He looked at Brass and stated, "He doesn't know." Brass shrugged. Ritchie turned back to Grissom. "I heard that you were supposed to be some kind of genius or something, the man who has an answer to every question. I guess I heard wrong. Well, as long as you don't know why it is that you couldn't be bothered to get on a plane, train, bus, car, bike, or hot air balloon--take your pick--and visit my sister, I don't know where she is."

"Jim?" Grissom implored.

"Hey, don't ask me. I'm just here because I was in the neighborhood and I heard Richard's was the place to be if you were a cop and wanted to play poker on a Saturday night. I hate to say this, Rich, but I'm kind of disappointed at the turnout."

"Sorry about that, Jim, but it looks like under the circumstances I'm going to have to cancel the game."

"Not necessarily. If Gil here would just answer your question, we would still have time to call up a few people and get a game going. Do you know Captain Annie Kramer over at Wilcox?"

"No, unfortunately, I haven't had a chance to work with her yet. Is she any good at poker?"

"A little too good, if you ask me. I thought I might give her call, see if she's up for a game."

Grissom, who had been following the banter, finally had enough and asked, "What is this, a good cop-bad cop thing?"

"Not necessarily," Brass answered, "but it wouldn't hurt to answer the man. I mean Ritchie _is _Sara's brother, and he has been taking care of her for the last 10 months. You can't really blame him for asking, can you?"

"No, I guess I can't," Grissom said. He turned back to Sara's brother. "Ritchie," he began.

Ritchie interrupted him. "Richard."

"What?"

"You can call me Richard."

"But Sara always calls you Ritchie."

"That's because she can. Sara can call me Ritchie. My girlfriend can call me Ritchie. My friends can call me Ritchie. Hell, even my crazy mother in prison can call me Ritchie. You, on the other hand, can't call me Ritchie. You haven't earned the right."

"But Jim just called you Ritchie, and he apparently just got here."

"Yeah, but I like him. Right now I don't particularly like you."

"Okay then, Richard. I didn't go after Sara because I didn't think she wanted me to."

"And why on earth would you think that?"

"Because she told me she didn't."

"Seriously, that's your answer? Dude, don't you know anything about women? They always say don't come after me, but that's not what they mean. What they mean is if you love me, you'll come after me. It's a test, just like when they ask you if their butts look big in a certain pair of pants. They don't want you to tell them the truth. They don't want you to say, 'Yes, honey, those pants make your butt look huge.' No, what they want you to say is, "No, they make your butt look amazing." If you say anything else, you fail the test, just like you did here."

"And you learned this little tidbit about women from where exactly?"

"From the holy grail of women's magazines," Ritchie said. He reached down, picked a magazine off the coffee table, and held it up for Grissom to see. "Cosmo. I think my girlfriend has been a subscriber since she hit puberty. She leaves them lying around the apartment, usually left open to some article that she thinks I need to see."

"Yeah, well I've never seen Sara read that."

"Oh, she reads it all right. You may never get her to admit, but she reads it." Grissom shrugged in response. Ritchie continued, "So let's just say for argument's sake that Sara did say 'Don't come after me,' and you believed her. Do you do everything my sister says? Just because Sara said, 'Don't,' doesn't mean you couldn't."

"I thought it was for the best. They say if you love someone, you have to set them free."

"And if they come back, they're yours. If they don't, they never were. Yeah, I've heard that, too. Who hasn't? But if you ask me, it's a load of bull. Love isn't a butterfly, Gil; it's a battlefield. You want to know who said that? A very wise woman named Pat Benatar."

"From what I remember of the 80's, she also said hit me with your best shot, so fire away, Richard. Fire away."

"Oh, wow. You actually made a joke," Ritchie said to Grissom. He then turned to Brass and asked, "Is he usually this funny?"

"Not usually," Brass answered.

"Hmm. I guess my mother was right. I am special. As I was saying, love is a battlefield, and it's a little hard to have a battle if only one person shows up for the fight."

"I didn't want to fight. I just wanted Sara to be happy."

"And you just automatically assumed that she couldn't be happy with you?"

"Well, she did leave, didn't she?"

"Yes, she did, but she had a good reason. In case you forgot, she got kidnapped by a serial killer, had a car dropped on top of her, and nearly died."

"I haven't forgotten."

"No, I think you did. I think you forgot that Sara went through one of the most traumatic experiences a person can go through. That's why you left her alone so much. That's why you let her switch shifts. That's why you let her walk away from the only real family she's had since she was twelve. Because you forgot. Because if you didn't forget, then that can only mean one thing, and that's that you just didn't care. Is that it, Gil? Did you just not love my sister enough to go after her?"

"No, of course not. I loved Sara. I still do."

"Really? Because you have a funny way of showing it. In case you missed it, my sister came back. On New Year's Eve, remember? I know you know that she did. Sara said her friend Greg told you all about it. According to that little theory of yours, that meant Sara was yours. You set her free, and she came back, so she was yours. The only problem is you weren't hers anymore, were you? No, you had already moved on to Dominatrix Debbie. So how's that been working for you? Are you and old Debs still together?"

"No, we're not. Debs--Heather was a mistake."

"A mistake, huh? Well, that's one way of putting it. Do most of your mistakes come with latex, a whip, and a set of handcuffs?"

"No, they don't. Look, I admit I made a mistake. One stupid mistake on one stupid night, but your sister isn't exactly innocent here. From what I hear, Sara has made her own fair share of mistakes, nearly ten years worth to be exact."

"Care to elaborate?"

"Sure. Mistake number one: failing to tell me I have a son."

"Oh, I get it. 'From what you hear.' You've been listening to Mikey, haven't you?"

"Yes, I spoke to Michael Barrett. He was quite…informative."

"Oh, I bet he was quite something all right. Let me guess. He told you that Sara is a heartless, evil bitch, that she lied to him, to you, and to Connor all these years for no other reason than she could, and that she walked away from him and Connor without so much as a glance back. Is that about right?"

"Just about."

"He probably also told you that he rode in like a white knight and took care of this poor orphaned child that no one wanted, even after he knew that child wasn't his."

"Pretty much."

"Well, let me tell you something about that white knight. He's not the hero in this story. He's the villain." Ritchie walked over to the desk that was sitting in the corner of the living room, opened the drawer, and pulled out a manila envelope. He then walked back to Grissom and handed him the envelope. "Open it," Ritchie directed. Grissom did as he was told and pulled out a set of pictures. The first picture was a close up of Sara's bruised and swollen face from the night she took Connor back from Michael. Grissom grimaced at the sight. "That's what your white knight did to your wife's face when she tried to take your son back last November."

Grissom tried to hand the pictures back to Ritchie, but Ritchie stopped him. "No, keep flipping," he told Grissom. "There's more." Grissom moved the picture of Sara's face to the back of the pile and looked at the next picture. "Those bruises are from where Michael kicked Sara in the stomach." Grissom moved on to the next one. "And those are from where he kicked her in the back when she tried to crawl away."

Grissom handed the pictures to Ritchie. "I don't want to see anymore."

"I don't care what you want. You're going to see them." Ritchie held up the next photo. "You see these bruises around her wrists? Sara got those when Michael climbed on top of her, pinned her hands above her head, and tried to rip her clothes off." Ritchie then showed Grissom a picture of Connor, his cheek visibly bruised. "And this bruise, that one right there," Ritchie said, pointing the bruise out to Grissom in case he missed it. "That's what your son got when he tried to stop the man he thought was his father from raping his mother."

Ritchie held up the last picture. "Now this one, this one's my favorite. This is what your daughter got for being in the wrong womb at the wrong time. In case you can't tell it from all the tubes and the glass surrounding her, your daughter's in an incubator in a neonatal unit. You see, when your new best friend Michael kicked your wife in the stomach, he caused her baby's placenta to tear. As Sara's pregnancy progressed, so did the tear. Her ob-gyn put her on strict bed rest in her fifth month of pregnancy, and Ava was born in the seventh."

"Ava?" Grissom asked.

"Yes, Ava. Your daughter. Ava Gillian. Something you would know if you had ever bothered to come around. Sara named her after you, just like she did with Connor, but she didn't do that because she loved you. No, that would require her to have a heart, and everyone knows Sara Sidle doesn't have a heart. I'm sure she just named the kids after you to stick it to you. Hell, if you believe that, then you probably also believe Sara got what she deserved," Ritchie said, holding the photos up again.

"No, I'd never wish that kind of violence on Sara."

"You know, I want to believe you, but I can't. I just don't know you that well. Sure, Sara said you would never lay a hand on her, but she would have probably said that about Michael, too, if you had asked her. In case you care, this," Ritchie said, holding the pictures up one last time, "wasn't the first time, although I made sure it was the last. Michael had been hitting her for years, even after she left San Francisco."

"I don't believe that."

"Why not? Are you calling my sister a liar?"

"No, it's just…Every time we worked a domestic violence case, I had to literally pry Sara off the guy. Are you telling me the entire time she was letting some guy do the same thing to her?"

"Letting some guy? You know, you've been hanging around that S & M chic way too long. My sister didn't just sit there and let Michael do anything to her. Your little girlfriend may be into that kind of thing, but my sister isn't."

"I didn't say she was. I just don't get why, after what your father did, why Sara would…"

"Why Sara would what? Get involved with someone just like dear old Dad? You know, studies show that children who witness or are victims of domestic violence are more likely than other children to grow up and become victims of domestic violence as adults."

"I've heard that. I just always thought Sara was one of those people who was going to prove the statistics wrong."

"So did I. At least I hoped she would. For what it's worth, I don't think it was intentional. I don't think Sara meant to get involved with someone like our father. I don't think it wasn't even about him or Michael in the beginning. I think it was about me."

"You?"

"Yeah. When Sara left for college, she was still angry with me."

"Angry about what?"

"About a lot of things. For starters, she was still angry that I wasn't able to get her out of foster care when I turned 18. I tried, but the judge had other ideas. Mostly though, I think Sara was angry at me for not being there the night our father died. I was always the one who protected her. When Dad would go into one of his drunken rages, I'd try to put myself between Sara and his fists. It didn't always work. There was this one time when I was 10 and Sara was 6, I went to this birthday party at my friend Johnny's house. Everything was fine when I left, but when I got home, Sara had a broken arm, and Dad was passed out on the couch. I didn't go to a lot of birthday parties after that."

"I'm sorry. That's no way for a child to live."

"No, it's not, but it is what it is. Anyway, the night our father died, I was at a football game. I had made the team that year, and the game was out of town. I thought it was safe to go since Sara wasn't supposed to be there either. Mom had arranged for her to spend the night at her friend Suzy's house, but Suzy came down with the chicken pox at the last minute, so Sara had to stay home. I don't know. I guess Mom figured it was now or never, and she thought Sara was asleep when she went after Dad. Unfortunately, Sara wasn't asleep, and she saw everything."

"That's what Greg said. Sara never said anything about it though. She just said your mother killed your father."

"Well, she wouldn't have. She blocked it out, but she didn't block out being scared of the police and the social workers and everything else that happened afterwards. The social workers took Sara to a foster home that night, but they didn't take me until the next morning. Sara was alone and scared out of her mind, and she blamed the only person she had left--me.

When she was in college, Sara rarely answered my calls, and she only called me if she was desperate for money. Eventually, I just stopped calling. When Sara moved back to San Francisco after grad school, I tried reaching out to her again. I tried to get her to talk to me, but she wouldn't. She would, however, talk to Michael. They saw each other again at a crime scene, and I don't know. I guess, in part, Sara started dating him to stick it to me. Michael was my best friend growing up, and at the time, I thought he still was. But I guess another part of Sara just missed having someone in her life who had been good to her when she was a child. Michael used to let Sara tag along with us everywhere we went, and he always stuck up for her when the other kids teased her.

I don't know what happened. I don't know when Michael changed or why. I didn't even know he was hurting Sara, not at first. He was really good at hitting her in places where the bruises wouldn't show, and from what Sara told me the physical bruises didn't even compare to the emotional ones he left her with. He grew up right next door to us, so he knew exactly what buttons to push. He knew Mom was Sara's weak spot, and he exploited it for all it was worth After Connor was born, Michael did everything in his power to convince Sara that she was a bad mother, that she was a danger to Connor, and that she was going to turn out just like Mom. Sara said it got to where she was even scared to pick Connor up because Michael had convinced her that she was going to hurt him if she did. He even convinced her that she had inherited a murder gene from our mother and that it was only a matter of time before the gene raised it's ugly head."

"Sara asked me once if I thought there was such a thing as a murder gene, right after she told me about what happened to your father. I told her that I didn't, but I could tell from the look on her face that she did."

"Well, now you know who to thank for that, and for once it's not my parents."

"Look, I'm sorry all this happened to Sara. You have no idea how truly sorry I am, but it still doesn't explain why she didn't tell me about Connor."

"She tried to tell you. I believe Sara's exact words were she tried more times than she could count. She said you kept pushing her away, and by the time you stopped pushing, it was too late."

"She still could have told me."

"Would it have mattered if she had? Tell the truth. If Sara had shown up that first day in Vegas with Connor in her arms, what would you have done? Would you have stood up and been a man, or would you have done what you've been doing for the last ten months and stayed as far away from her as you could?"

"I would like to think I would have done the right thing."

"So do I, but I can't. According to Sara, you've known that she was pregnant with Ava for months, but you're just now getting around to doing something about it. Sara did the best she could, considering the circumstances she was presented with. She flew out to San Francisco whenever she could, and she paid whatever price Michael made her pay to see Connor."

"What do you mean 'she paid whatever price'?"

"Let's just say Michael didn't just abuse Sara physically and psychologically."

Grissom thought a minute about what Ritchie had just said. "Sexually?" he asked with dread.

Ritchie nodded. "Sara wouldn't go into details other than to say that Michael liked it the rougher the better, and if he made her cry, that was just an added bonus. About four years ago, Sara had finally had enough. She was going to take Connor and bring him back to Vegas with and just worry about how to tell you about him when they got there, but Michael wouldn't let her. He did to her then pretty much what he did to her last November, only this time when it was over he showed her a custody order that said Sara couldn't take Connor anywhere."

"Wait. How did Michael get custody of Connor if he's not the biological father?"

"Connor's birth certificate says Michael is Connor's father, or at least it used to. Michael failed to tell the court that a DNA test had proven that he wasn't the father."

"But why didn't Sara show up for the court hearing? She could have told the judge the truth."

"Yes, she could have, but she didn't know about the hearing. Michael forged some service papers, so the judge thought that she did know and that she just couldn't be bothered to show up. Sara saw those papers, and she freaked. She came by my place, begging me to help her. We'd barely said more than five words to each other in years, and then one day there she was, sitting on my doorstep, crying, a bruised and bloody mess. When she told me what Michael had been doing to her, I admit I lost it. I went over to Michael's with every intention of showing him what happens to people who mess with my sister. The only problem was Michael had anticipated that Sara would run to me for help, so he had some paperwork to show me, too."

"What, like a restraining order?"

"No, I wish that was all it had been. Michael had been getting his hands dirty at work for years. Unfortunately, I had only just started suspecting him and didn't have anything concrete I could take to I.A. Michael, on the other hand, had plenty on me, all completely fabricated, but convincing nonetheless. He told me to tell Sara that if she tried to have the custody order overturned, he'd turn me into I.A."

"Did you tell her that?"

"Reluctantly, yes, I did. That was it for Sara. You could see it in her eyes. She just shut down. I told her not to worry about it and to fight for Connor anyway, but she wouldn't do it. She just gave up. She went back to Vegas, and I moved to L.A. I think she may have called Connor a few times after that, but I don't think she ever went back, at least not until last November."

"You said that was about four years ago. Sara got stopped for suspicion of DUI around that time."

"I know. Sara told me. I guess she got that from our father, the whole coping-with-alcohol thing. I'm sure you just thought that that had something to do with you or my parents, huh?"

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"Well, it didn't, at least not entirely."

"So how did she manage to get Connor away from Michael last November?"

"She came prepared."

"Prepared how?"

"She brought a taser gun with her."

"Where on earth did she get that?"

Ritchie shrugged. "I don't know. E-bay, I guess. It's amazing what you can buy on there these days."

"Michael said you blackmailed him into signing away his rights."

"Yeah, I did. What goes around, comes around, right? He fabricated evidence against me, so I collected real evidence against him. It took me a few years and a lot of weekends on the road, but I finally got enough evidence to put him away for the better part of his life."

"But he's not in jail."

"No, he's not. People like him tend to always beat the rap, and I couldn't risk that. Then what leverage would I have to protect Sara and the kids? None, that's what. So long as I have the evidence and I.A. doesn't, I can still control Michael."

"So how's Sara now? Is she okay?"

"How do you think she is? She's about the furthest you can be from okay. She hardly eats. She hardly sleeps. She wakes up almost every night screaming from nightmares about our father's murder and about Michael and Natalie coming after her. She's trying to be a good mother to her kids, but she's been told almost every day for the last nine years or so that she can't be one, so she's constantly on edge. She's scared that at any minute she's going to hurt her kids. She's scared that they're going to grow up and hate her for what she's done. She's scared that she's losing her mind, just like our mother did, but mostly she's scared that you never loved her and you're never coming back. So tell me, Gil, how do you feel?"

"Pretty lousy."

"Good answer." Ritchie turned to Brass. "Hey, Jim, why don't you tell your friend where his wife is?"

Brass looked at Grissom. "She's in Vegas, Gil. She has been for little over a week."

* * *

"Can I help you bathe her?" Connor asked Sara from the doorway of the bathroom. Sara was on her knees beside the tub, running warm water into the infant tub that she had placed inside.

"You'll get all wet," Sara answered her son.

"No, I won't. I'll pull my sleeves up. Besides, I can hand you things without getting water on me."

Sara turned off the water and then turned around to look at Connor, who seemed genuinely excited by the prospect of helping her. "Okay, you can help, but I want you to go get a towel out of the linen closet to kneel on. I don't want you hurting your knees."

"Yes!" Connor exclaimed, running off in the direction of the linen closet. Sara checked the temperature of the water one last time, then got off the floor, and walked down the hallway to get Ava out of her crib. When she returned to the bathroom with Ava, Connor was waiting for them. "Look, Mom, I got everything ready," he said, pointing out the baby shampoo, soap, and washcloth that he had lined up on the side of the tub and the towel that he had put on the counter.

"I see that," Sara told him.

Sara got on her knees beside Connor and placed Ava gently in the infant tub. She and Connor then spent the next few minutes bathing Ava and washing her hair. When they were done, Sara carried Ava into her room and put her pajamas on.

"Can I help you get her to sleep?" Connor asked.

"You're quite the little helper today, aren't you?" Sara asked in response. Connor shrugged. "How are you going to help me?"

"I can sit in your lap or beside you in the rocker and read Ava a book while you hold her."

"You really want to do that?"

"Uh-huh."

Sara looked at the rocking chair. She wasn't sure that all three of them would fit, but she figured that she would give it a try. She didn't want to disappoint Connor. "Sure, why not?"

"Yea! What book do you want me to get?"

"It's up to you."

Sara sat down in the rocking chair with Ava and waited for Connor to pick a book off the shelf. When he finally found the one he wanted, he climbed into Sara's lap. With some maneuvering, Sara was able to balance Connor on one side of her and Ava on the other.

Connor started to read the book out loud as Sara rocked them. "Once upon a time in a land far, far away lived a beautiful princess named…"

This is nice, Sara thought, as her son continued to read the book. Now if I just don't screw it all up.

* * *

"So how long have you known?" Grissom asked Brass. He was now sitting on the sofa next to Brass, waiting on Ritchie to put clean sheets on the bed in the spare bedroom. Sara's brother had reluctantly invited Grissom to stay there for the night, but Grissom still wasn't sure if that was such a good idea.

"About Connor?" Brass asked. Grissom nodded. "I just found out on the way here. Nick called and told me. Apparently, Ritchie's girlfriend and Connor made a little surprise visit to the lab today."

"But I thought you said Sara's been home for more than a week. You haven't gotten to work with her?"

"No, I've been working with her, pretty much every day since she started back to work Monday. She just didn't tell me about Connor. I think she was trying to today. She asked me something about moving some furniture, but I already had plans to come here and get you."

"Did she tell anybody else?"

"I don't think so. The babysitter maybe, but not anybody at work."

"But why not? After all this time, why not now?"

"I think she was just trying to find a way to say it. She hasn't had a good week, Gil. Like Ritchie said, she's not eating. She's not sleeping. I had to take her to the hospital the other day when she had a panic attack in a parking garage. She almost had another one last night when we got called to a crime scene out in Red Rock Canyon. Ecklie is walking on his tip toes around her because he's scared she's going to sue the county, and I'm not even going to go into how many different ways Hodges had made her life hell this week. I think she was trying to tell everyone; she just ran out of time before Connor showed up and said, 'Surprise!'."

"Before he showed up? She didn't take Connor back with her?"

"No. Apparently from what Nick said, Sara thought that you would be there, and she didn't want Connor to see the two of you fight. Considering everything that Ritchie just said, that probably wasn't such a bad idea."

"Weren't you surprised?"

"Honestly?" Grissom nodded in response. Brass answered, "Not really. Looking back, I think it kind of explains a lot. Sometimes things are right in front of us, Gil, and we just don't see them until someone points them out."

"And you're not the least bit angry she didn't tell you before now?"

"Nah. Who am I to judge? I'm about to go take a drive down Santa Monica Boulevard to see if I can find my hooker daughter standing on one of the street corners. I really don't have to the right to give anyone parenting advice or to judge them on the choices that they made in that regard."

"I wish I could be that understanding. I'm just having a really hard time trying to wrap my brain around this whole situation."

"I probably would, too, if I was in your shoes, but I'm not. Just give it a chance, Gil. Give Sara a chance, and don't do anything rash until I get back from looking for Ellie. I really don't have the energy to get on a plane tonight and chase you down to Timbuktu."

"I'll try."

"And, Gil, one more thing. Give Ritchie a chance, too. I know he came off as kind of harsh, but from what I can tell he's a really good guy. He's just trying to protect his sister. Someone has to, right?"

"Yeah, I guess they do." As Brass got up and left the apartment to search for Ellie, Grissom thought to himself, and apparently that person isn't me.

* * *

"So did I do good with the bed?" Sara asked Connor, as she tucked him into the top bunk.

"Yep. It's just what I wanted. Thank you, Mom."

"You're welcome, honey. Are you sure you're not going to fall off?"

"I'm sure. That's what the rails are for. Duh."

"Duh. Okay, so Mom's stupid. What else is new?"

"You're not stupid, Mom, just paranoid."

"Oh, is that what it is?"

Connor nodded. "Uh-huh."

"Well in that case, I guess it's time for me to turn off the lights then. Do you want the door open or shut?"

Connor considered the question. "Open I guess."

"Okay then." Sara stood up on her toes and gave Connor a quick kiss on the cheek. "Good night, baby."

"Good night, Mom. I love you."

"I love you more."

_

* * *

_

Aw, wasn't that sweet. You and Connor giving Ava a bath. You and Connor rocking her to sleep. You tucking them both in. It was so sweet, it was practically a Hallmark card.

Sara splashed water on her face, washing off the rest of the face wash, and then dried her face with a towel. She looked into the mirror and asked, "Why do you have to always ruin everything?"

_I'm not ruining everything. You are, and everyone knows it. You're going to ruin those kids the way you ruined your marriage and every other good thing that's ever come along in your life._

"What do you know about good? You're about the farthest thing from it."

_Maybe, but it looks like I've got company, hint, hint._

"Leave me alone."

_Sorry. I can't do that. I feel it's my duty to point out what I've known since we were kids. You're going to end up just like your mother. "Sara Sidle got a knife. She cut her husband and ended his life." La, la, la._

"Shut up."

_Nope, sorry. I've got too much to say today. Like about those friends of yours who were here earlier. Nick and Greg. You don't think they have actually forgiven you, do you?_

"They said they did."

_Of course they did, but they didn't mean it. They were just saving face_.

"Maybe."

_Maybe, schmaybe. They were, and you know it, but pretty soon they're going to stop saving face and start telling you how they really feel, and then you're going to be all alone, just like I always told you you would be. No one's ever going to love you, Sara. I didn't. Grissom didn't. Your parents didn't. How do you expect Nick and Greg to?_

Sara turned off the bathroom light and whispered, "I don't."

* * *

Grissom took his watch off and laid it on the dresser in Ritchie's guest room. He was trying to take Jim's advice. He was trying to give Sara a chance. He had agreed to stay in the room where Sara and his kids had lived for the last ten months. He had hoped it would give him some insight into what they went through and why Sara did what she did. He wanted to understand her. He honestly did, but the situation was still too new and too painful to comprehend.

Grissom picked the framed picture of a little boy off the dresser. I've seen this picture somewhere before, Grissom thought. I'm just not sure where. Then he remembered the where.

"_Grissom, what are you doing here?" Sara asked him. She had answered the door in jeans and a worn-out Harvard sweatshirt, her eyes visibly red and puffy._

"_Can I come in?" he asked._

"_Sure," Sara said, standing back from the door._

_Grissom entered Sara's apartment and looked around. Only one small lamp was on in the living room, and wadded up tissue littered the top of the coffee table. "I wanted to see if you were okay after all that happened today."_

"_I'm fine," Sara answered._

"_You don't look fine. You look like you've been crying."_

"_I haven't," Sara said, denying the allegation._

"_So then what's with all the tissue?" Grissom asked, as he walked over to the coffee table._

_Sara, who had followed Grissom into the living room, looked down at the coffee table and then back up at him. "So you got me. I've been crying. Big deal. I was watching The Notebook. It's that time of the month, and that movie always makes me cry."_

"_Your TV's not on."_

"_I turned it off when I heard you knock on the door."_

"_Oh. Who's that in the picture?" Grissom asked, noticing the pile of pictures laying underneath the tissue._

_Sara picked up a magazine and dropped it on top of the pictures. "My brother. Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I'm a little tired, and I really want to lay down, so is there anything else I can help you with? Was there some other reason you came?"_

"_Like I said, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."_

"_And like I said, I'm fine, so if you don't mind," Sara said, walking closer to the apartment door._

"_There was one other thing. Would you, um, like to go to dinner with me?"_

"_Dinner?"_

"_Yes, dinner. When I saw you today in that office, Sara, and Adam was holding that knife to your throat…"_

"_It wasn't really a knife. It was more like a shank."_

"_Well, when I saw Adam holding that shank to your throat, I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move fast enough. I thought I was going to lose you."_

"_You never had me, remember? I was a mistake you wish you could take back."_

"_Sara, I didn't…"_

"_No, Griss, don't. Just don't insult my intelligence by saying that you didn't mean that or that you meant something else. You said that I was a mistake. You couldn't have been any clearer." Sara walked to the door and opened it. "About dinner. I appreciate the offer, but I think I'm going to pass. I'll see you at work tomorrow."_

Grissom had given up the fight and left. He had just assumed that he had missed his chance. Then the Sunday after Nick was rescued, he had heard a knock on his front door. When he had opened it, Sara had been standing on his doorstep, two containers of take out in her hand. "I brought dinner," she had told him. "Sara, it's 10 o'clock in the morning. It's a little early for dinner," he had said in return. "I know," she had said back. He had let her in, and they had taken the food into the kitchen. In the end, it hadn't mattered that it was too early for dinner; he and Sara had just skipped right to dessert. He had never given the photo on Sara's coffee table another thought, not until today.

Grissom slipped the back of the frame off and pulled the picture out. He then flipped the photo over and read the handwritten inscription. "Connor, Age 3."

"I guess it wasn't your brother after all," Grissom said to himself. "I guess Jim was also right. Sometimes something is right in front of us, and we just don't see it until someone points it out."

* * *

"This place is nuts," Ronnie told Catherine and Warrick, as she walked into Catherine's office and took a seat in front of Catherine's desk. Catherine had lured Ronnie away from swing when Greg had rejoined the team. "I go away for a week for vacation, and I come back and it's like I walked into a parallel universe."

"Is the switch from two-ply to one in the bathrooms freaking you out, too?" Warrick asked. "I think it's freaking Greg out."

"No, but Sara is," Ronnie answered. "Like it's not weird enough she's back, but now she's got a kid."

"Yeah, we met her," Catherine told Ronnie. "Ava's a cute kid."

"I'm not talking about Ava," Ronnie responded. "I'm talking about the other one."

"What?" Warrick and Catherine asked in unison.

"You mean you haven't heard?" Ronnie asked back.

"Heard what?" Catherine asked.

"That Sara has an eight-year-old son named Connor."

"No, that's definitely the first we've heard of that," Warrick answered. "Where did you hear that from?"

"Hodges."

"Well, there's your problem right there. Hodges doesn't know what he's talking about half the time. He just opens his mouth and lets whatever filth that's been growing in there fall out. He's not even supposed to be on tonight, is he?"

"He's not on my schedule," Catherine answered. She lifted her coffee mug up to her mouth and took a sip.

"Well, according to Hodges, Connor is also Dr. Grissom's."

Catherine nearly choked on her coffee. "Wh-what?" she managed to get out.

"Sara and Dr. Grissom have an eight-year-old son. Apparently, he's supposed to be nine next month or something."

"But that would mean," Warrick said, doing the math in his head.

Catherine did likewise and exclaimed, "I knew it!"

"Knew what, that they had a kid?" Warrick asked, not believing her.

"No, that there was something more between them than just friendship before she moved here. I knew I should have trusted my instincts on that. I knew it."

"But can you trust Hodges? Does he have any proof that Sara and Grissom have another child, or is he just making it up off the top of his head?" Warrick asked Catherine and Ronnie.

Ronnie answered him. "He says he has pictures. Apparently, Connor came by this morning to surprise Sara, and Sara had Judy give him and some friend of hers from L.A. a tour of the lab. He met a lot of people around here. That's why the whole lab's talking about it, and that's why I was so surprised you hadn't heard."

"We have got to start getting out of this office more," Catherine told Warrick.

"Why bother?" Warrick responded. "We just managed to step straight into the Twilight Zone without even so much as leaving our seats."

* * *

"Mommy! Mommy!"

Sara opened her eyes and sat up. Connor was standing in the doorway to her bedroom, his stuffed bear Pookie clutched tightly in his right hand, the remnants of dried tears staining his cheeks. "Connor, baby, what's wrong?" Sara asked.

"I had a bad dream. Can I sleep with you?"

"Sure you can." Sara held open the covers while Connor climbed in. Sara then pulled him close to her. "Do you want to tell me what the dream was about?"

Connor sniffed and laid his head on Sara's chest. "I dreamed we came home, and Dad--I mean Michael--was sitting on the steps waiting for us like Nick was tonight, and then we went inside, and he hurt you and Ava and made me go back to California with him."

"Oh, honey, that's never going to happen."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. Your Uncle Ritchie made sure of it."

"But Uncle Ritchie's not here right now. He can't protect us."

"But I can. I have a gun, remember?"

"So? You had a gun that night that woman took you, and it didn't help you then."

"That was different, Connor. Natalie…she…took me by surprise."

"But how do you know Da--Michael isn't going to do the same thing?"

"I just do, baby."

"I don't."

"Look, Connor. I know you've been through a lot lately. We both have, but everything's going to be okay now. You're safe. Your sister's safe. I'm safe. I promise."

"Can't we just bring Ava in here to be sure? She can sleep between us, and we can put the bed rails up. I'll even let her hold Pookie. I won't roll over on her, I promise. I'll protect her, Mom, just like you protect me. Can we please?"

Sara pulled back and looked at her son's face. She brushed a newly fallen tear from his cheek. "Sure we can, baby. Sure we can."

* * *

Ritchie sat in the armchair in his living room, thinking about the night's events. He didn't know whether to hug his brother-in-law or to kick his ass. He also didn't know whether he should call Sara and warn her that Grissom was coming home in the morning or to leave well enough alone. He wanted to talk to Cameron about it and get an update on his sister's current emotional state before he made that decision, but Cameron still wasn't back yet from Las Vegas. Ritchie had come into the living room to wait for her and to put a blanket and pillow on the sofa for Brass when he got back from looking for his daughter.

A few minutes later the apartment door opened, and Cameron walked in. "Hi, honey, I'm home," she said to Ritchie, as she shut the door and dropped her bags on the floor. She then ran across the room and jumped into his lap. "I've missed you," she said and kissed him to illustrate that fact. When Cameron started to unbutton his pants, Ritchie reluctantly pulled her off of him and stood up. "What's wrong?" she asked. "We're finally alone."

"No, we're not," Ritchie said, nodding in the direction of the hallway. He had just heard the guest room door open and knew Grissom was about to walk into the living room.

"What?" Cameron asked, confused. Then she saw what or whom Ritchie was talking about. "McBuggy," she said under her breath. Cameron turned around to face Grissom and crossed her arms in front of her chest. "What are you doing here?" she asked Grissom.

"I was looking for Sara," he answered her.

"Well, you're in the wrong place."

"So I've been told."


	51. Chapter 51

"I can't believe he's here. I can't believe he's actually here. Sara finally leaves, and he shows up. What is that? Bad timing? Murphy's Law? Karma? Anti-karma? What?" Cameron asked Ritchie, as she threw the throw pillows off the bed and onto the floor.

Ritchie, who was trying to both pick the pillows back up and avoid getting knocked in the head by one, answered Cameron's questions the best he could. "I don't know, Cam. I gave him a hard time about it, but at least he finally came."

"Well that's one way of looking at it," Cameron said, chunking another pillow in Ritchie's direction before turning her anger on the comforter and sheets.

"Do you think we should call and tell Sara?"

"What time is it? I took my contacts out already."

"Uh, 1:15."

"Then, no, I don't think we should call and tell Sara. She's not working tonight, which means she's probably sleeping. At least, I hope she's sleeping. She needs to be sleeping. Don't tell her I said this, but she looks like an extra from the Night of the Living Dead. I don't think she's sleeping at all now, or, if she is, it's only for an hour or two at a time. At least she was sleeping some here, but I really don't think she's sleeping at all there. Do you have any idea what that kind of sleep deprivation can do to a person? I sure do. I had to study it in school, and believe me, it is not pretty."

"Okay. Calm down, Cam, or Sara's not going to be the only one who's sleep deprived."

"I'm sorry, Ritchie, but I can't. McBuggy's got me too wound up. He shows up here out of nowhere, and let me guess. I bet he was all boo-hoo, Sara left me. Boo-hoo, she didn't tell me I have a son. Boo-hoo, it's all Sara's fault. Boo-hoo. Boo-hoo Am I right, or am I right?"

"You're right."

"Well, what about all the times he made Sara boo-hoo? What about him and Bondage Betty? I guess he forgot to boo-hoo about that."

"No, I wouldn't let him."

"Good. I hope you weren't nice to him."

"I wasn't, but I'm starting to think I should have been."

"Ritchie!"

"Hey, don't Ritchie me. Sara would have probably wanted us to be nice."

"Well, Sara's not here, now is she? And who's fault is that?"

"I know. I know. McBuggy's."

"Yes, McBuggy's. Huh! I should have called him McBugMe instead."

"There's still time."

"Of course there is. He's right in the next room. What were you thinking inviting him and that other guy to stay here? When did we suddenly turn into the Holiday Inn?"

"Gee, I don't know, Cameron. Maybe about the time my pregnant sister and her son showed up on our doorstep needing a place to hide from my ex-best friend, Detective Sociopath. And do you really want to know what I was thinking?"

"Yes, I really want to know."

"I was thinking that I didn't want my brother-in-law to leave here and get on a plane to anywhere but Las Vegas and break my sister's heart again. I was thinking that if I let Jim Brass sleep on the sofa, he could talk some sense into the man if he tried to leave or at least block the door until one of us could. And once again, I was thinking what would Sara want me to do, and it's not throwing her husband out in the cold."

"Ritchie, it's L.A. It doesn't get cold in September in L.A. It just doesn't."

"You know what I mean."

"Fine. Whatever. You win. Just don't expect me to be nice to him."

"I don't."

"Good." Cameron sat down with a huff on the bed. "I'm so never getting to sleep tonight."

"And apparently neither I am."

* * *

Grissom couldn't sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Sara's bruised and battered face. He couldn't stop thinking about what Richard had said about Sara, about the abuse that she had endured at Michael's hands. His mind kept filling in the blanks of Richard's story, adding the graphic details that he had otherwise been spared. He kept seeing Sara pinned down on a bed with Michael on top of her. Sara crying out in pain, begging Michael to stop, but Michael refusing to. Sara curled up on the floor, trying to block the kicks to her stomach that wouldn't stop coming. Sara's eyes so blackened and swollen that she couldn't see to escape. Sara praying for help that never came.

He also thought about his son. How many times had Connor seen Michael hit Sara? How many times had he tried to intercede? Was he like his mother? Did he think that that was what families were supposed to be like? Did Michael hit him, too?

Then there were the thoughts of his daughter, the daughter who could have died before she was ever even born, the daughter who could have died afterwards in that incubator. He hadn't been there for that, for the months Sara spent on bed rest, for the months Ava spent in the NICU. He should have been there. As much as he wanted to blame Sara for his absence, he couldn't. All he had to do was call Jim, and he would have known exactly where to go. All he had to do was to stay away from Heather, and he wouldn't have had to call anyone at all. He would have just had to go home.

After hours of tossing and turning, Grissom finally got up and turned on the lights. Dale Carnegie had once said that, "if you can't sleep, then get up and do something, instead of lying there worrying. It's the worry that gets you, not the lack of sleep." Grissom decided to take his advice. He went over to the dresser, got the photo album Richard had left him, and took it back to bed with him. He hoped that the happier pictures of Sara and the kids would replace the horrific ones in his mind. He hoped that they would help him to stop worrying, but he wasn't confident that they would.

Grissom opened the album and turned to the first picture.

* * *

Cameron knocked on the bedroom door. "Come in," she heard a male voice say from beyond the door. As Cameron turned the knob and pushed open the door, she flashed back to another day that she had done the same thing, the first time that she and Sara had gotten past the idle chitchat and feigned politeness to really connect as friends.

_It was Sara's second day back from the hospital, as well as her second day on bed rest. Ritchie was at work, and Connor was at school, so it was Cameron's job to make sure that Sara was okay. When Cameron entered the guest bedroom, Sara was laying on her side facing the door and wiping the tears from her eyes. Cameron hesitated and then handed Sara the bag she had brought with her. _

_"I got you some magazines and some DVDs after I dropped Connor off at school. I thought you might be getting bored. Ritchie said that you're kind of a workaholic," she told Sara._

_Sara took the bag and dropped it on the bedside table. She didn't look in the bag to see what magazines and DVDs were in it but told Cameron, "I am. Thanks."_

_"You're welcome. Do you want anything to eat or drink?"_

_"No, I'm good."_

_"Okay. If you change your mind, just yell. I'll be down the hall."_

_"Thanks."_

_Cameron had started to leave the room but changed her mind. "Sara?" she asked._

_"Yeah."_

_"I know you think I'm a total airhead."_

_"I never said that," Sara said, pulling herself into a sitting position on the bed._

_"You didn't have to. I can just tell. Girls like you always do." Sara reddened in response to Cameron's observation and started to apologize, but Cameron stopped her. "Don't worry about it. Everyone does it. They see the hair and the breasts, and they just assume I'm too stupid to walk and chew gum at the same time. I'm not, in case you were wondering. Believe it or not, my IQ is pretty up there, maybe not as up there as yours, but I'd be willing to bet it's pretty close. Don't tell Cindy or Mindy this because they'd never let me live it down, but I was actually in the gifted program in high school." _

_"You were a geek?" Sara asked in disbelief._

_"I know. It's hard to believe, right? But, yeah, I was a geek."_

_"Funny, I always figured you for a cheerleader in high school."_

_"Oh, I was that, too."_

_"You were a geek and a cheerleader?"_

_"Yeah, I know. It's a total oxymoron, but it's true nonetheless. See, I used a big word, and I even know what it means. Surprising, huh?" Sara laughed in response. Cameron, hoping Sara's laugh meant that the ice was finally melting between them, sat down on the end of the bed. "I was also on the high school newspaper, the math team, the drama club, and I was even on the debate team for awhile before I realized that it was more about drama than the drama club."_

_Sara shook her head at Cameron's admission. "When did you sleep?" she asked._

_'I didn't, at least not much anyway. My parents, my teachers, my classmates--they were all convinced that I was going to become a doctor or a lawyer or a rocket scientist or something when I grew up. They even had me convinced that that was how my life was going to turn out. Then one day my freshman year roommate convinced me to go to this audition with her. It was for a Clean & Clear commercial, nothing big, but I ended up reading for the part and actually got it. My roommate hated me for it, but I didn't care. I was hooked, and I know this is going to sound corny, Sara, but that one commercial made me realize that I didn't want to be a doctor or a lawyer or a rocket scientist; I just wanted to play one on TV._

_My parents, of course, freaked when I told them about my little epiphany. They threatened to cut me off if I dropped out of school or majored in drama, so I majored in psychology and minored in drama instead. That seemed to satisfy them some, but to this day they're still on my case about when I'm going to give up on this silly pipe dream of mine and get a real job. I keep hoping that I'll land some big role--something smart and serious, something they'd appreciate--and they'll finally leave me alone, but so far that hasn't been an easy thing to do. I go in for serious parts, and the casting directors take one look at me and think 'dumb blonde,' and then it's 'thanks, but no thanks' before I can even read the first line."_

_"Have you ever thought about dying your hair?"_

_"Yeah, I have. I even went to the drugstore once and bought a box of Nice N' Easy medium golden brown, but I couldn't go through with it. Why should I have to change? Why can't it be the rest of the world that changes and finally realizes that a blonde with big boobs can just as easily be a doctor or a lawyer or a rocket scientist as she can be a Playboy Playmate or a Baywatch lifeguard or Party Girl 4 in some American Pie movie?"_

_"Good question."_

_"I know. I think if I ever decide to go to grad school, I'm going to make it my thesis. Anyway, I'm sure you probably think that that's all that your brother sees in me, too, the hair and the boobs. I'm sure you think that between my looks and the age difference, Ritchie's just having an early mid-life crisis and I'll be gone by this time next year, but it's not about that, Sara. Ritchie and I--we just get each other. He gets why acting is so important to me. He gets that it's my dream, and he wants me to pursue it because he had a similar dream once and he wasn't able to pursue it."_

_"I know. He wasn't able to go to art school because of me," Sara said, looking down at the bed._

_"Look, Sara, I'm not trying to blame you for that. Really I'm not. I'm just trying to explain. Ritchie gets the acting, and he gets that my parents make me nuts, and he even gets that, no matter how I look on the outside, inside I'm just as insecure as the next person, maybe even more so. I get that he doesn't blame you for anything. I get why he gave up his dream, and I get that his biggest fear in life is that one day he's going to wake up and find out he's become his father. I also get why he's not ready to get married and why he may never be ready, and I'm okay with that. I love your brother, Sara. I really do, and I'm willing to wait for him forever if I have to. So what if there's a 15 year age difference between us? Age is just some stupid number we put on our driver's licenses anyway, no more and no less."_

_"Grissom and I are 15 years apart."_

_"See, so you know what I mean. Age doesn't matter. Fit does, and Ritchie and I fit. I'm kind of hoping that one day you and I will fit, too. I could always use another friend."_

_"I could, too." Sara picked the bag off the nightstand and looked inside. She pulled one of the DVDs out of the bag. "Lost, huh? I wouldn't mind getting lost for awhile. What is it, like Gilligan's Island or something?"_

_"You're joking, right?"_

_"No, why?"_

_Cameron grabbed the box from Sara's hand, got off the bed, and headed for the DVD player. "Let's just say that Gilligan and the Skipper only wished that they were half as yummy as Jack and Sawyer. If that's the only reason you've never watched it, then you're in for a real treat."_

_"A yummy, Jack and Sawyer treat, I take it?"_

_"Oh, yeah."_

Cameron and Sara had spent the rest of the day bonding over the plight of the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815. A few weeks later, Cameron could honestly say that Sara had become one of the best friends she had ever had. Now she had to just figure out the best way to help her friend, even if that meant doing something she didn't want to do and being nice to her husband. Cameron pushed the door to the guest room the rest of the way open and saw Grissom standing at the end of the bed, putting his things into a bag.

"Hi, I wasn't sure if you were up yet," Cameron said to Grissom.

"Yeah, I've been up for awhile; I just haven't felt like coming out yet."

"I can understand that."

"It's Cameron, right?" Grissom asked.

Cameron nodded. "Cameron, Cammie, Cam. I answer to all three."

"You mean I don't have to earn the right to call you Cammie or Cam?"

"No," Cameron answered with a laugh. "Let me guess, Ritchie told you that you had to earn the right to call him anything other than Richard."

"Yeah."

"Don't mind him. He says the same thing to all the new police cadets every year. I think he thinks it's scary, kind of his version of 'Call me Mr. Tibbs.' In the end, he always lets them call him Ritchie."

"Well, he hasn't let me call him that yet."

"Just give him time. He's a little overprotective of Sara. We all are. Um, I made breakfast if you're interested. Eggs, biscuits, both real bacon and the vegetarian kind. I wasn't sure if Sara had winged you off of meat or not."

"She was trying to."

"She was trying to do the same to us. She just couldn't convince Ritchie that fake meat was as good as the real thing. I also brought you this," Cameron said, handing Grissom a picture.

Grissom looked at the picture of Sara, Connor, and Ava. "What is this?"

"Consider it a peace offering. We kind of got off on the wrong foot last night, and I thought maybe we could start over. We took the picture a few weeks ago at the Santa Monica pier. Connor loves all the rides there, and the fish at the aquarium make Ava laugh, so Sara wanted to take them one last time before they went home."

"They look happy."

"Looks can be deceiving. She missed you, you know. A lot. She talked about you all the time. Grissom said this; Grissom did that, and she wanted to call you. She wanted to tell you about Ava and Connor. She was just too scared to pick up the phone. That day Sara came back from Vegas, I had never seen anyone more emotionally devastated in my life. I didn't think she would ever get over seeing you with another woman, but she did, or at least she did enough to finally go home. Sara just wants her kids to have the family and the home that she never had, and she wants them to have that with you.

I know you're mad at Sara right now, and you have every right to be, just like she has every right to be mad at you for the whole Lady Heather situation and for not going after her. But I wanted you to have that picture so that you don't forget what's really important here, and it's not your anger or Sara's anger or who's right and who's wrong. What's important is them. They're your family. When you go home today and you see Sara, just don't let your anger cause you to lose sight of that fact."

Grissom looked down at the picture and sighed. "I'll try not to," he told Cameron.

"That's all I'm asking. Breakfast is on the table when you're ready."

* * *

Sara sat upright in bed. She thought she had heard something downstairs. Unable to see anything or anyone in the darkness that surrounded her, Sara reached over and turned on the lamp on the bedside table. With the light now on, Sara could see that Connor, Ava, and Hank were all upstairs, all still in the bed with her. They couldn't have made the noise Sara thought she heard.

When Sara heard the noise the second time, she quietly slid out of bed, shut and locked the bedroom door, and then got her gun out of the lockbox in the closet. After checking to make sure the gun was loaded, Sara sat beside Connor and shook him awake. Connor looked at Sara and the gun, his eyes growing big. Afraid Connor was about to scream, Sara put her finger to her lips to quiet him.

Another sound came from below and caused both Sara and Connor to jump. "Mom, what's going on?" Connor asked in a whisper.

"I don't know, baby," Sara answered back.

"He found us, didn't he? I told you he would, but you wouldn't listen."

"I don't know, Connor. It may not be Michael. It may be someone else, or it may be nobody at all. I won't know until I go down there and see for myself."

Connor grabbed his mother's arm. "No, Mom, you cant' go. You can't go down there. He'll get you."

"No, he won't," Sara told Connor, but he didn't look convinced. "Look, Connor, I need you to be a big boy for me, okay. I need you to lock the bedroom door behind me when I leave, and I then I need you to call 911. Can you do that for me?"

"But I don't know the address," Connor pleaded.

"That's okay. You don't have to know it. Just stay on the line, and the operator will trace the call. Can you do that for me?" Connor nodded. "Now I don't want you to open that door for anyone but me, do you understand? I don't care who they say they are, or what they promise you, or what they threaten to do to you or me or your sister, you don't open that door unless I tell you to. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mom, but…"

"No, buts. I have to go down there. Now take care of your sister and Hank."

Sara kissed Connor, unlocked the door, and went into the hallway. When she heard the door shut and lock behind her, she turned the safety switch off on her gun and slowly walked down the hall in the direction of the stairs, sweeping the shadows for unwanted visitors as she passed them. Finding none, she proceeded down the stairs, one step at a time, with her gun poised in front of her.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, Sara saw a figure standing in the darkened living room. Sara pointed the gun at the figure and yelled, "Freeze!" The figure stopped in place. "Put your hands in the air!" she ordered. The figure obliged and raised his arms in surrender. Holding the gun with one hand, Sara switched on the light with other. "Turn around slowly!" she ordered again. When the figure did as he was told, Sara realized that she knew the intruder.

"Jim?" she asked, lowering her gun.

"Hi, Sara. Can I put my arms down now?" Brass asked.

"Yeah, sure," Sara said, confused as to why Brass was standing in her living room uninvited early on a Sunday morning. "How did you get in here?"

Brass showed her the key in his hand. "Gil gave me a key."

Still confused, Sara asked, "What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be in Los Angeles, looking for Ellie. Did you find her and need to borrow some clothes or something?"

"No," Brass said.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I found something else."

"What?"

"Let's just call it an early birthday present," Brass answered, pointing in the direction of the kitchen.

Sara turned around and looked where Brass was pointing. "Gil," she said, as she saw her husband standing next to the stove in the kitchen.

"Hello, Sara."


	52. Chapter 52

"You're back," Sara said to Grissom.

"So are you," Grissom responded.

"Yeah, I came back last week."

"I know. Jim told me."

Sara, Grissom, and Brass stood in uncomfortable silence until Brass finally tried to break the ice. "Hey, you two, don't knock me over rushing into each other's arms." When neither Grissom nor Sara responded, Brass cleared his throat and said, "Okay, bad joke." Seeing that Sara still had her gun partially raised at them, Brass nodded at the gun and asked, "Hey, Sara, do you think you could maybe put the safety on that thing? You're making me a little nervous here."

Sara turned the safety back on and lowered the gun. "Sorry," she told Brass.

"Don't be. We woke you up. We didn't knock. We didn't call. It's understandable. I just kind of figured you'd already be up."

"Yeah, we--um, I--had a late night."

"Your brother didn't call you?"

"No. Why? Is something wrong? Did Ritchie get shot?"

"No, no, Ritchie's fine."

"So then why would he call?"

"I thought he might warn you we were coming."

"How would he know that?" Sara asked. Before Brass could respond, the answer dawned on Sara. "Because you really did go to L.A. I thought you said Gil was in Florida."

"He was."

"So how did he end up in L.A.?"

"I was looking for you," Grissom answered for Brass.

Sara looked at Grissom. "But how did you know to go to L.A.? I told you that I was in San Francisco."

"I know. I went there first. I met Michael Barrett. He told me where to go."

"Oh," Sara said, realizing what that meant. "I guess he told you a lot of other things as well."

"Yes, he did."

He knows everything, Sara thought. He knows about Connor. He knows about Michael. He knows that I lied. Sara looked down at the floor. She couldn't bear to look in Grissom's eyes anymore. She was afraid of what she saw there. More than that, she was afraid of what she didn't see. Sara closed her own eyes and tried not to cry.

Sensing the newfound tension that had arisen with the mention of Michael's name, Brass told Grissom and Sara, "You two need to talk. I'm going to go and let you do that."

Sara opened her eyes and protested, "Don't. Stay. I'll make breakfast."

"Thanks, but I already ate. Your friend Cameron got up early and cooked for us."

"Cammie cooked?" Sara asked, disbelieving that statement.

"She tried."

"Well then stay, and I'll get you some Tums."

"I can't, Sara. You need to do this. It's time." Brass started to leave but stopped when he heard the approaching sirens. "Did you call the police?" he asked Sara.

"I thought someone had broken in," Sara admitted. From above them, a baby started crying. Sara glanced up and said, "Great. Perfect timing."

"I guess I'll be staying after all. I'll take care of those," Brass said, nodding in the direction of the door and the sirens. He then pointed upwards and told Sara, "You take care of that."

* * *

This is it. This is where it all ends, Sara thought as she walked up the stairs.

She could see it in her husband's eyes. He hated her. He wanted her out of his home, out of his town, out of his life. All the apologies and explanations in the world weren't going to change that look. They weren't going to make him love her again. If he ever loved me at all, Sara pondered. Maybe that look wasn't hate but pity. Maybe he just feels sorry for me. Poor, pathetic Sara living in a dream world, still unable to grasp the fact that she would never be more than just another notch on his Ph.D., another fling, another mistake. Poor, pathetic Sara still holding out hope that one day someone good and kind and gentle would actually love her. Or maybe it was shame. Maybe Grissom was embarrassed that he had ever gotten involved with her in the first place. Maybe he regretted the day he accepted her invitation to dinner, the night he invited her back to his hotel room, the Sunday morning three years ago when he finally let her into his home, his bedroom, his life.

I should have never come back, Sara concluded, as she reached her bedroom door. Things had been easier in L.A., simpler. Los Angeles was the land of make-believe, a town where every story was scripted to have a happily-ever-after ending, a place where the hero and heroine were expected to ride into the sunset together in the last scene of the movie, their futures only potentially marred by a sequel that took them into a new direction or a last-minute recast. Sara had been able to believe in fairy tales there. She had been able to believe that everything would work out when she came home. She had been able to believe that her husband would take one look at her and, as she told Catherine, pick her, choose her, love her.

She didn't believe those things anymore. She couldn't, not here, not now. Las Vegas was too complicated. It wasn't the land of make believe, but the land of the gamble. If her marriage had been the wager, Sara was pretty sure she had just lost the bet. In fact, she was pretty sure she had just lost everything.

Feeling lightheaded, Sara leaned against the bedroom door and knocked. "Connor, open the door," she directed her son.

"Mom?" Connor asked from the other side of the door.

"Yes, honey, it's me. Please open the door."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes, it's just me," Sara answered, bracing herself against the door jam. The dizziness is getting worse, Sara realized. She needed to sit down before she passed out.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, baby, I'm sure. It's safe to open the door. I promise."

Sara tightened her grip on the door jam as Connor unlocked the door, opened it, and hugged her tightly. "He found us, didn't he?" Connor asked her, his face buried in her shirt.

Sara could feel Connor's tears wetting her skin through her shirt. She risked letting go of the door jam and kneeled down so that she was eye level with her son. "No, baby, he didn't."

"Then who's down there? I could hear you talking to someone."

Sara wiped the tears from Connor's cheeks and then answered his question. "Your father."

"But you just said…"

"Not Michael, baby. Your real father."

"Oh." Sara stood up while Connor thought about her answer. "Is that why you're shaking?" he asked his mother.

"I'm not shaking."

"Yes, you are," Connor said, pointing at Sara's hands.

Sara looked down at her hands. Connor was right. They were shaking. "I didn't realize," she mumbled, as she entered the bedroom and looked around for her daughter. She could still hear Ava screaming, but she didn't see her. "Where's your sister?" she asked Connor.

"In the bathroom with Hank. We were hiding."

"Can you get her for me? I need to lock up the gun."

Connor nodded in response. He then went into the bathroom, as Sara walked over to the dresser and returned the gun to the lockbox. When Sara picked up the box, a wave of nausea rippled through her gut. Fearing that last night's pizza was about to come back up, Sara put her free hand over her mouth and closed her eyes.

"Mom, are you okay?" Connor asked from the bathroom door.

Sara opened her eyes and looked at Connor. He was holding Ava, but Ava was fighting him, crying and reaching out for Sara. Hank, meanwhile, ever the duteous guard-dog, was cowering behind him. Sara faked a smile and told him, "I'm fine." She walked to the closet and returned the lockbox to the top shelf.

Walking towards her children, Sara thought to herself, he's going to take them from me. He's going to take the kids, and I'm never going to see them again. Sara reached for Ava, and Connor handed his sister to her. "Thanks for protecting her," Sara told Connor.

Connor shrugged. "That's my job."

Sara smiled at the comment and sat down on the bed. She held Ava to her chest and patted her on the back. "Shhh, it's okay, sweetie. It's okay. Mommy's here," she told Ava, trying to quiet her cries. As Ava continued to cry, Sara closed her eyes and thought, he's going to take her. He's going to take her, and then I won't be here. I won't be able to hear her cry. I won't be able to hold her. I won't be able to comfort her. I won't be able to see her cut her first tooth or take her first step. I won't be able to hear her first word. He's going to take her, and he's going to take Connor. I just got my son back, and now I'm going to lose him again. I'm going to lose my kids. I'm going to lose my husband. I'm going to lose my friends. I'm going to lose everything.

Sara held Ava tighter and continued to think, I'm going to lose. I'm going to lose.

* * *

Grissom walked around the living room, thinking about what his next step should be. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. He didn't know if he should go outside with Jim and talk to the uniforms who had responded to Sara's 911 call or if he should go upstairs and help Sara. He didn't know what he was supposed to say to Sara if he did. He didn't know what he was supposed to say to his children. For once in his life, he didn't know much of anything.

Grissom finally settled for sitting on the sofa. He could still hear the baby screaming upstairs. Well, one's thing's for sure, Grissom thought. The kid's got a set of lungs on her. Grissom smiled to himself. He'd seen Sara mad enough times to know where Ava got that from, and it wasn't him.

Grissom turned when Brass walked back into the townhouse. "Are they going to arrest me for breaking and entering my own house?" he asked Brass.

"No, I explained everything. They're leaving now. I probably should be, too."

"You don't have to."

"Now you sound like Sara. I take it she still hasn't come down yet."

"No." Grissom looked up at the ceiling again as Ava's cries grew louder. "Should she still be screaming like that?" he asked Brass.

Before Brass could answer, they heard a boy's voice scream, "Help! Somebody help me!"

Brass and Grissom ran upstairs and found Connor sitting next to Sara and Ava on the floor of the bedroom. Sara was breathing in short, shallow breaths, and Connor was crying. When he saw them come into the room, he told them, "Something's wrong with her. She stood up from the bed, and then she started breathing funny, and then she sunk to the floor, and now she won't answer me. What's wrong with her? Is she dying?"

Brass knew what was wrong. He had thought the same thing the first time he had seen Sara acting like this. "No, kiddo, she's not dying," he told Connor.

"Then what's wrong with her? Why won't she answer me?"

"She's having a panic attack." Brass got on his knees next to Connor and took hold of Sara's arms, which were locked tight around Ava. "Sara. Sara, I need you to listen to me. I need you to give me the baby. I need you to give me Ava." Sara only tightened her hold on the baby. "Sara, you know me. I'm not going to hurt her. I just want to go put her in her crib until you're over this, okay? You don't want to scare her, do you?" Brass seemed to get through to Sara with that comment because she loosened her grip. Brass took the opportunity to get Ava out of Sara's arms and handed her to Grissom.

When Sara continued to breath raggedly, Connor pleaded with Brass, "Fix her. Please just make her stop."

"I'm going to try, kiddo," Brass told Connor. He took hold of Sara's arms again and tried to get her to focus on him. "Okay, Sara, now I need you tell me where your pills are. Are they in the nightstand?" Sara shook her head slightly. "Are they in the medicine cabinet?" Again Sara shook her head. "Are they in your bag?" Sara nodded. "Okay, good girl." Brass turned to Connor and asked, "Do you know where your mom put the bag she brought home from work yesterday?"

"Uh-huh," Connor responded. "In the closet downstairs."

"Good. I need you to do something for me, Connor. I need you to run downstairs and get that bag for me and a bottle of water from the fridge. Can you do that for me?" Connor nodded and ran from the room.

Grissom, who was holding Ava awkwardly in the corner, felt helpless as he watched Sara struggle to breathe. "Is she going to be okay?" he asked Brass.

"She should be. The ER doctor sent her home with a couple of extra Ativan in case this happened again."

"Did I do this to her?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. Maybe we really should have knocked."

Connor came back into the room carrying Sara's bag and a bottle of water. He handed them both to Brass. Brass dug around in the bag, found the bottle of pills, and got one out for Sara. He pushed the pill into Sara's mouth and held the opened bottle of water up to it. "Okay, Sara, I need you to take a sip of this water for me and swallow the pill. Can you do that for me?" Brass expected a fight from Sara, but to his surprise she swallowed the pill and some of the water; most of the water, however, ended up on her shirt. "Sorry about that," Brass told Sara. "Connor, can you go get me a towel so we can clean her up?"

Connor ran into the bathroom and grabbed the hand towel from the rack. When he came back into the room, he told Brass, "I have it." He then knelt beside his mother and dabbed at the water on her shirt. When the shirt was dried to his satisfaction, Connor hugged Sara and chanted, "Please get better. Please get better. Please get better."

Brass, Grissom, and Connor waited for Sara's breathing to slow, while Ava continued to cry in Grissom's arms. Once Sara's breathing returned to normal, Connor let go of his mother and turned to Brass. "You fixed her," he told Brass.

"Nah, I just gave her a pill. I think that hug of yours fixed her more than I did. What do you say we help her get off the floor and back in the bed? That pill I gave her is going to make her really sleepy, and I doubt she wants to sleep on the floor."

"Okay. What do you want me to do?"

"How about you get one arm, and I get the other arm, okay?"

Connor nodded, and then together he and Brass helped Sara stand up and get back into the bed. "I'll tuck you in," Connor told Sara.

"Thank you," Sara said, as Connor pulled the sheets and comforter up over her. She then looked over at Grissom and Ava in the corner. "Did I hurt her?" she asked her husband.

"No, I think you just scared her," Grissom said. You scared us both, he thought.

"Did I scare you?" Sara asked Connor.

"A little," Connor answered.

"Come here," Sara said, opening her arms. Connor leaned in and let Sara hug him. "I'm sorry," Sara told him. She looked at Grissom and Ava and said, "I'm so sorry."

* * *

"You can't leave me alone with them," Grissom whispered to Brass in the hallway.

"Why not?" Brass asked.

"Because I don't know what to do with them."

"They're kids, Gil. You watch them. You feed them. You play with them. You make sure they don't stick their fingers in the electric sockets or run out in front of a car. It's not rocket science. I think you can handle it."

"What about Sara?"

"Make sure she doesn't stick her fingers in the electric sockets or run out in front of a car either."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, I do. Look, Gil, Sara will be fine. She'll sleep off the drugs, and when she wakes up, the two of you can talk. In the meantime, get to know your kids, and let them get to know you." Brass patted Gil on the back. "I'll see you at work."

Grissom watched Brass leave and then turned to his son, who was standing at the other end of the hallway with his arms crossed. Grissom took a deep breath and walked over to him. "Hi," he said to Connor.

"Hi," Connor answered back.

"Do you know who I am?"

Connor nodded. "You're my real father."

"So Sara covered that topic already?"

"Uh-huh."

"Any chance you know why your sister won't stop crying?"

"Uh-huh."

"Could you maybe tell me?"

Connor rolled his eyes in response. "She just woke up. She needs to be changed and fed. Duh."

"I guess that makes sense. Which one is her room?"

Connor pointed at Ava's bedroom door. "That would be the room with the butterflies and the crib."

"I guess that makes sense, too." Grissom carried Ava into the nursery and laid her on the changing table. Connor followed him. Now what, Grissom thought, as he stared down at his daughter.

"It's a onesie," Connor said. "You have to undo all the buttons to get to her diaper."

"I knew that."

"Sure you did. She got a bath last night. You can go ahead and take it off and put clothes on her when you're through. That's what Mom does."

"Okay." Grissom managed to get the onesie off of Ava without dropping her or letting her fall off the changing table. He then undid her diaper and took a sharp breath in when he smelled what was inside. He had seen decomps that smelled better. Grissom picked up the diaper, set it aside, and grabbed some baby wipes out of the container on the table.

"I know a lot of things, you know," Connor told him.

"Like what?" Grissom asked, as he looked unsuccessfully for the diapers.

"Like the diapers are in the top drawer."

"Oh," Grissom responded. He hadn't looked there. Grissom opened the drawer with one hand, holding onto Ava with the other, and got out a diaper. He then started to put it on her.

"I also know you're doing that wrong."

"How's that?"

"You're not doing it tight enough. It's just going to fall off."

"I don't want to do it too tight. I don't want to cut off her circulation."

"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you."

Grissom picked up Ava so he could look for her clothes and saw her diaper fall off instead. Connor started to laugh. "Okay," Grissom conceded. "So you know what you're talking about."

"I also know what panic means. It means scared. Mom was fine until she went downstairs, but she was shaking when she came back up. That means you scared her. You made her have the panic attack."

Grissom didn't know what to say to that; he had thought the same thing. All he could do was tell his son the truth. "I didn't mean to, Connor. I'm sorry."

"Don't tell me that. Tell her."

"I intend to when she wakes up." Grissom picked Ava up again; this time the diaper stayed in place. Now he just had to find her clothes.

"Good. The clothes are in the bottom two drawers."

"I knew that."

"No you didn't. And you might want to put that diaper in the diaper genie, or the whole house is going to stink."

"What's a diaper genie?"

Connor shook his head in response.


	53. Chapter 53

"She's still crying," Grissom said to Connor.

After three tries, he had finally managed to dress Ava in an outfit that matched well enough to suit Connor's tastes. "It's not my tastes," Connor had told him. "I could care less what clothes Ava wears, but Mom does, and when she wakes up, the first thing she's going to do is tell you that a pink and green polka dot shirt does not go with orange pants. Then she's going to make you change her." Grissom had given in and grabbed the next pair of pants out of the bottom drawer. Those pants had gotten another eye roll from Connor; apparently yellow didn't go with pink and green either. Connor had to finally fish the matching bottoms out of the drawer for him. Grissom had hoped the fresh clothes and diaper would quell the crying, but Ava was still going strong.

"I told you she's hungry," Connor responded.

"Right," Grissom said, as he patted Ava on the back. "Uh, I'm not sure if I should ask you this or not, but does your mother use formula, or does she, um, uh…"

"Breast feed?" Connor asked.

"Yeah, that."

"Yes, she breast feeds."

Grissom looked embarrassed. "Then how am I supposed to feed her?"

"Duh. Mom has bottles in the fridge."

"Bottles of breast milk?"

"Uh, yeah. She uses a pump for the babysitter."

"A pump?"

"Uh-huh. You really don't know a lot about babies, do you?"

"Apparently not. You seem to know an awful lot about breast-feeding for a kid your age."

"Mom says that breast-feeding is the most natural thing in the world and that neither one of us should be embarrassed by her doing what nature intended."

"That sounds like something your mother would say." Connor shrugged in response. "I guess we should go downstairs then."

"Well, that is where the milk is."

Grissom carried Ava downstairs and opened the fridge. Connor was right; several bottles of milk sat on the top shelf. Grissom grabbed one and was about to put it in Ava's mouth when Connor stopped him. "You can't do that," Connor told him.

"Why not?"

"You have to warm it up first."

"Oh." Grissom opened the microwave and stuck the bottle in it, but Connor stopped him from turning it on.

"You can't do that either."

"But you just said to heat it up."

"I know, but you can't heat it up in the microwave. Mom says it could heat the bottle up too much and burn Ava."

Grissom took the bottle back out of the microwave. "So how do I heat it up then?" he asked his son.

"You have to heat up some water on the stove or run water over it in the sink."

"But how do I know when it's the right temperature?"

"You test it on your arm. It's supposed to be warm but not hot."

"Oh."

"You've been saying that a lot this morning. Maybe you should buy a book about babies. It might help."

"Maybe I should," Grissom responded, as he turned on the water in the sink. He actually had bought a book after Greg had told him about Sara. The lady at the bookstore had told him that the book explained what to expect at each stage of pregnancy and afterwards. He had brought the book home, but he had never made it past the first chapter. The book had reminded him too much of what he had lost, so he had thrown it out with the trash. Now he wished he hadn't. He really didn't know what he was doing with either Ava or Connor.

Once the water was warm, Grissom stuck the bottle under it. He had opted for the sink method because he didn't think that he was coordinated enough to hold Ava and tend to a pot of boiling water all at the same time. Besides, he figured that the sink would be a quicker, and therefore less painful, resolution to the crying situation. He was scared that if Ava screamed in his ear for much longer, he wouldn't have to worry about a reoccurrence of the auricular condition that he inherited from his mother; his daughter would surely burst his eardrums.

When he was satisfied that the milk was at the right temperature, he stuck the bottle in Ava's mouth. Ava sucked at it greedily, her hands closing around the top of the bottle. "Finally," Grissom mumbled. He looked over at Connor, who was sitting at the bar. "I guess you're hungry, too," he said to his son. Connor nodded. "What do you want?"

"Cheerios, I guess."

Finally, something I can do, Grissom thought. "Cheerios it is."

_

* * *

_

Someone was down there again.

_Sara could hear them moving around. She had to know who it was. She had to see for herself, but her gun was missing. She knew she had put it back in the closet, but it wasn't there now. She had looked in the drawers, under the bed, even in the bathroom cabinet, but the gun was nowhere to be found. That meant only one thing--she would have to go downstairs unarmed and vulnerable._

_Sara knew that she would have to risk it. She had to know who it was. She couldn't sit there alone in the bedroom, waiting for whoever was downstairs to come up, merely delaying the moment that some dangerous ambiguity emerged from the darkness and pulled her back in. _

_Sara opened the bedroom door and headed downstairs. Although her heart was beating so loudly in her chest that it nearly drowned out her ragged breathing, she didn't turn back. She couldn't. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw a figure standing in the living room. Before she could call out to the figure, a hand went over her mouth, and an arm encircled her midsection, pinning her own arms to her side. Sara tried to fight off her attacker, but she found that she was too weak to break his grip. Sara grew still when she heard the voice in her ear._

"_Aw, honey, you know how much it turns me on when you put up a fight."_

_It's Michael, Sara thought. He finally found us. But if he's behind me, who's in the living room?_

_As if reading her mind, Michael answered her question. "I brought a friend," Michael said, as he dragged her into the living room and flipped on the light. "I believe the two of you know each other."_

_Sara's eyes widened in fear when she saw who it was: Natalie. Sara tried to pull loose from Michael's arms, but he only held her tighter. "There you go again, making me all hot and bothered. You keep it up, and we might have to skip the games and go straight to the grand prize. But first you're going to have to tell me how to shut her up. I gave her one of your kid's toys to play with, and now she won't stop singing about some stupid bisque doll. I'm telling you, I'm starting to feel as nuts as she looks."_

_Sara tried to say something in response, but it was muffled by Michael's hand._

"_What's that, honey? I couldn't understand you." Sara tried again. "Now, now, Sare. You're going to have to wait until I take my hand off your mouth, and I'm only going to do that if you promise not to scream. Do you promise?" Sara nodded. "Good girl," Michael said, removing his hand from Sara's mouth._

"_Where are my kids?" Sara asked._

"_Your husband took them and left. I told you he would the first chance he got. Everyone leaves you, Sara. Even Batty Natty over there left you alone that night. But I'll always be with you, Sara. I'll always come back."_

"_I'd rather be alone."_

"_Too bad. I'm already here, and we have a lot of catching up to do." Michael threw Sara down on the couch and climbed on top of her. _

_Natalie walked over to them, petting the head of Ava's doll that she was holding. She looked down at Sara and began to sing. "Something is wrong with my little inside. I'm just as sick as can be. Don't let me faint. Someone get me a fan. Someone please run for the medicine man."_

"_God, that's getting annoying," Michael said, as he unbuttoned his pants._

"_Everyone hurry as fast as you can, cause I've got a pain in my sawdust," Natalie continued to sing._

_Sara closed her eyes, too tired to fight the inevitable, too tired to run. They could do with her as they pleased. It didn't matter anymore. Her family was gone. She might as well be filled with sawdust, too, another miniature in Natalie's collection. _

When Sara opened her eyes, she was back in her bedroom. Michael and Natalie were gone, mere figments of the lorazepam and her late morning wake up call. Sara slowly sat up and looked around the room. It was dark, and she was alone. She didn't know how long she had been asleep. It felt like forever. She had never wanted her kids or her husband to see her in that state. She had never wanted to scare them. Connor had actually thought she was dying. She had to get up and talk to him. She had to explain what had happened. She had to make him understand that she wasn't leaving him again.

Sara got up and checked the other two bedrooms for Connor, but she couldn't find him. "They must be downstairs," she muttered to herself. As she started down the stairs, she suddenly realized how quiet the townhouse had become. She didn't hear the TV or the radio playing. Worse, she didn't hear her son's voice. Connor was only quiet when he was sick or asleep. He didn't seem sick when he woke up, and she highly doubted that he had gone back to sleep.

Afraid of what the hush might mean, Sara ran down the steps and into the living room. The lights had been turned off, and neither her children nor Grissom were anywhere in sight. They weren't in the kitchen either. Panicked, Sara ran to the front door and threw it open. Grissom's car was gone. He had taken them. Sara slammed the door shut and sank to the floor. Her nightmares had finally come true.

* * *

"Sara, calm down. I can't understand a word you're saying," Nick told Sara over the phone. He had just woken up when Sara called, and the only thing he had understood so far was that Sara was hysterical about something.

"I can't calm down. He took them. He took the kids," Sara responded.

"Who took them?"

"Grissom."

"Grissom's back?"

"Yes! Haven't you been listening to a word I've said?"

"I'm trying to, Sara, but up until now you haven't made a lick of sense. When did Grissom get back?"

"This morning."

"And when did he take the kids?"

"I don't know. I woke up, and they were gone."

"How long were you sleeping?"

"I don't know. Brass made me take an Ativan."

"Why would Brass do that? Did you have another panic attack?"

"Yes, okay, yes. Crazy Sara had another panic attack. Grissom came home, and I freaked out, and Brass made me take a pill." Sara paused for a minute when a new thought occurred to her. "Oh, God. Do you think that's why Brass made me take it? Do you think he was trying to give Grissom an opening so he could take the kids and run?"

"No, I don't think Brass would do that, Sara."

"Why not? He's been Grissom's friend a hell of a lot longer than he's been mine."

"Yes, but he's also a cop, Sara. He's not going to risk his entire career to help Grissom take the kids. Aiding and abetting a kidnapping is still a felony, the last time I checked."

"But we're married, and they're Grissom's kids. Legally, Grissom's probably just as entitled to take them somewhere as I am."

"Maybe, Sara, but I still don't think Brass would do that to you, and for the record, I don't think Grissom would either."

"Then where are they?"

"I don't know. Maybe they went to get something to eat. Have you checked to see if he left you a note?"

"Yes, I checked. There was no note, no message, no nothing."

Nick could hear rattling and slamming in the background and Sara cussing under her breath. "Sara, what's going on?" he asked.

"I can't find my keys. I can't find my damn keys."

"Sara, what do you need your keys for?"

"To drive. I'm going to go look for them."

"No, you're not, Sara. You don't need to be driving in your condition."

"I do not have a condition, Nick. I'm upset, and I'm pissed, but I do not have a condition."

"You know what I mean, Sara. You just woke up. You took an Ativan an indeterminate number of hours ago, presumably on an empty stomach, and I'm willing to bet you haven't eaten anything since last night. You could pass out at the wheel."

"So what do you expect me to do, Nick? Just sit here while they get farther and farther away?"

"No, I expect for you to wait until I get there. I'll drive you."

"Well, you better hurry up then because I'm only going to wait so long."

"I'm on my way," Nick told her, as he grabbed some clean clothes out of the drawer. "Everything's going to be okay, Sara."

"No, it's not," Sara said, hanging up the phone.

Part of Nick agreed with Sara. As he changed into the clean clothes, he started to think that Brass going after Grissom had been a really bad idea. He just couldn't let Sara know it.

* * *

When Nick pulled up to the townhouse, Greg was getting out of his car in the driveway. Nick got out of his truck and approached Greg. "So Sara called you, too?" he asked.

"Yeah. She actually asked me if I was hiding Grissom out at my place. Like that would ever happen," Greg answered. "I figured if Sara was losing it that badly, I'd better come over and hide all the weapons, if you know what I mean." Greg pointed behind Nick. "Looks like we're not the only ones she called."

Nick turned around and saw Warrick and Catherine pulling up. "The gang's all here," he commented.

"So does anyone know what's going on with Sara?" Catherine asked Nick and Greg after she got out of the car. "Lindsey said Sara was so hysterical on the phone that she couldn't make out anything other than it had something to do with Grissom."

"According to Sara, Grissom came back this morning, waited for her to fall asleep, and took off with the kids," Nick answered.

"Wait a minute," Warrick said. "You just said kids, not kid. Don't tell me Hodges was actually right about something,"

"In this case, yeah he was. Turns out, she has two of them."

"Damn," Warrick commented. He looked down at his cell phone when it started to ring. "Looks like it's my turn," he told the others. He answered the phone, "Hey, Sara. What's up?…No, Grissom's not with me.…Of course, I'm sure.…Hey, if you don't believe me, just look outside. I'm right in front of your house." Warrick waved at Sara when she pulled back the blinds. "I understand.…It's no problem. Just let us in, okay." Warrick closed his phone as the front door opened. "I guess we should go see what this is really all about."

* * *

"I can't believe how many school supplies they make you buy these days. When I was your age, we didn't even have to buy our own pencils," Grissom told Connor.

They had just sat down in a booth at McDonald's after spending an hour shopping for Connor's school supplies at Target. Connor had told him that Sara was supposed to take him, but, in light of Sara's current emotional and physical state, Grissom had figured it was better if he did. Luckily for him, Sara had left the list of supplies on the refrigerator. Unluckily for his wallet, he had made the mistake of walking past the toy section, and Connor had talked him into buying both him and Ava a toy.

"I guess schools have gotten cheap," Connor said, as he opened his Happy Meal box and pulled out the toy inside. "Cool!" he exclaimed, showing Grissom the toy. "It's Pikachu."

"What's a Pikachu?" Grissom asked.

"Duh. Only the best Pokemon ever."

"Oh," Grissom said. He had no idea what a Pokemon was, but he wasn't about to admit it. Maybe he needed to buy a book on that, too. "Are you sure Sara lets you come here?"

"Uh-huh. She lets me play on the playground all the time. Well, not this playground, but the one in L.A."

"And she actually lets you eat a Happy Meal?" Grissom asked, as Connor got out his box of chicken nuggets.

"She doesn't, but Uncle Ritchie does. Does she actually let you eat a Big Mac?" Connor asked, pointing at Grissom's own food.

"No," Grissom said, looking down guiltily at his hamburger. "If she was here right now, she'd probably lecture me on the senseless slaughter of cows."

"And she'd say the same thing to me about chickens," Connor said, pulling out his French fries. "Unless McDonald's starts making vegetarian Happy Meals any time soon, it's probably the last one I'm going to get until I'm 18. I won't tell her if you won't."

"Deal."

Connor ate a nugget, while Grissom bit into his hamburger. He then asked his father, "Do you think she's going to sleep all day?"

"I'm not sure."

"But she should see our note if she wakes up."

"She should. I put it on the nightstand right next to her."

"I don't want her to get scared again."

"Neither do I."

Connor ate another chicken nugget and then asked Grissom, "What am I supposed to call you?"

"I don't know. What do you want to call me?"

Connor shrugged. "I haven't decided yet. What do you want to call me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Mom calls me 'baby' all the time. I keep telling her I'm too old to be called 'baby.' I mean, I'm almost nine, but she always says something cheesy like I'll always be her baby," Connor said, rolling his eyes.

"So I take it you don't want me to call you 'baby.'"

"Nuh-uh," Connor said, shaking his head. "No way. It's embarrassing enough when your mom says it, but when you dad says it, too…" Connor rolled his eyes again. "Everyone will laugh at me."

"How about if I just call you Connor for now."

"Okay. No one should laugh if you call me that, well no one but that guy at Mom's work."

"What guy?"

"That guy Hog."

"You mean Hodges?"

"Yeah, Hodges. That's what I said."

"Hodges laughed at your name?"

"Uh-huh," Connor said, nodding. "Mom introduced me, and he started laughing."

"Why would he do that?"

"He said it was funny because Mom's name is Sara and mine's Connor, and there's a Sarah Connor on that movie The Terminator."

"That doesn't seem all that funny."

"He thought it was."

"Well, I guess I'm going to have to have a little talk with Hodges when I start back to work."

"Don't worry about it. Mom told me when we got home that I shouldn't listen to anything Hodges has to say 'cause he's nothing but a rat."

"Well, that's a pretty accurate description of Hodges."

Connor shrugged. "He didn't look like a rat. He wasn't all that hairy, and he didn't have a tail."

"It's a just a figure of speech. She just meant that Hodges is a mean guy who says things like that sometimes for no other reason than to be annoying."

"Oh. Well, I guess that makes more sense. I guess that's why he flirts with other women, too, when he thinks his girlfriend's not around."

"Hodges has a girlfriend?" Grissom asked. That was the first Grissom had heard of it.

"Yep. Wendy," Connor answered, as he shoved a fry in his mouth.

"Wendy at the lab?"

"Uh-huh. He was flirting with Aunt Cam while we were waiting for Mom to get back from a crime scene, and Wendy caught him. She got real mad."

"Well, I've obviously missed a lot while I was gone."

"Where did you go?"

"Florida. I was teaching a class at a college there."

"Did you go to Disney World?"

"No."

"What about Sea World?"

"No."

"Busch Gardens?"

"No, I didn't go there either."

"I want to go, but Mom says she doesn't have the money right now because Ava's hospital bills cost so much."

"I'm sorry."

Connor shrugged. "It's okay. Ava's too small anyway. Maybe we can go when she's big enough to go on the rides and Mom doesn't cry so much. People shouldn't cry at Disney World."

"No, I guess they shouldn't. Does your mom cry a lot?"

Connor nodded. "She thinks I don't know, but I can always tell. Her eyes get all red and puffy, and her nose sounds stuffy, and she doesn't always get all the mascara off her cheeks."

"I'm sorry."

Connor shrugged. "It is what it is, or at least that's what Uncle Ritchie always says. I'm not sure what that really means, but he always says it after he and Mom talk about something really sad, like when they talk about Grandma."

"You know about your grandmother?"

"Uh-huh. Mom finally told me about her after I googled her name on the internet."

"So you know she's in jail?"

"Yeah, but Mom won't let me go see her. She says jail's no place for kids."

"It's not."

"But I wouldn't have to actually go to jail. I'd just have to go to the visitation room, like they do on TV."

"True, but I think your mom's right on this one."

"Is Grandma ever getting out?"

"I don't know."

"If she does, can I see her then?"

"I don't know. That's something your mom and I will have to discuss if or when it happens."

"Oh. Well, can I at least play on the playground when I'm through eating?"

"I don't know. We should probably get back to Sara and make sure she's okay."

"But she's probably still asleep. Can't you call and see?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I kind of threw away my cell phone when I was in Florida."

"Well, that was kind of stupid."

"Yes, it was."

"Can't I just play for a few minutes? Please, please, please?"

Grissom looked at the expression on his son's face and gave in. "Sure. Why not? What's a few more minutes going to hurt?"

* * *

"You've got to breathe," Nick told Sara, who was curled up on the sofa on the verge of hyperventilating.

"I am breathing, Nick."

"I mean you need to take deeper breaths."

"I'm trying."

"Well, try a little harder. If you have another panic attack, you're not to going to be any use to Ava and Connor. If you want, I'll do the breathing exercises with you."

"What I want is to get my kids back."

Nick shook his head in response. There was no getting through to Sara when she was like this. He couldn't blame her for her reaction. If he were in her shoes, he'd probably be acting the same way. He just hoped the whole situation turned out to be one big misunderstanding. "Any luck?" he asked Warrick, who had joined them in the living room.

"Unfortunately not. I called Dave, Hodges, Wendy, and Bobby. No one's seen Grissom," Warrick told them.

"You mean, no one's admitting that they have," Sara said.

"That, too."

"That's also a negative on Henry, Mandy, and Archie," Greg said, as he entered the room. "Maybe Catherine's had more luck."

Catherine hadn't. "Sorry, guys. Jim said he hasn't seen Gil since this morning, and Sofia and Doc said they haven't seen him since he left in May."

"They could be lying," Sara said.

"They could be, but I don't think they are."

"Then that leaves only one other possibility," Greg said.

A look of realization came over Sara's face, and she jumped off the couch. "That bitch!" she exclaimed.

"Ah, crap," Greg mumbled, as he realized that he should have never mentioned the other possibility.

Sara, who had apparently found her keys after she hung up with Nick, grabbed them off the bar, but Nick stopped her before she could get out the door. "Sara, you can't go over there."

"And why the hell not?"

"Because you're still in your pajamas."

Sara looked down at her clothes and then back up at Nick. "So I'll change, but then I'm going. Either you can drive or I can drive, but one way or another I'm going to that woman's house, and I'm getting my kids back."

Sara threw the keys back on the bar and ran up the stairs. When she was out of earshot, Nick asked, "Y'all don't think Grissom would do something that stupid, do you?"

"If he did, God help him and Lady Heather both," Catherine answered.

* * *

"I can't believe you made the manager stand outside the ladies' bathroom so you could change Ava," Connor told Grissom from the backseat, as they turned onto their street.

"Well, maybe that'll teach them to install a changing table in the men's bathroom. What did they expect me to do, lay her down on a dirty urinal?"

"Yuck! Mom's going to crack up when I tell her. I hope she's up. What's with all the cars?" Connor asked, pointing at the cars parked in front of the townhouse.

"I'm not sure," Grissom answered. Although he recognized Catherine, Greg, and Nick's vehicles, he didn't know what they were doing there.

"Maybe Mom woke up and decided to throw a welcome home party."

"Maybe," Grissom answered. Although I highly doubt it, he thought.

"Let's go see," Connor said, opening the car door. "I've got Mom's food and the school stuff. You get Ava."

Looking at the other cars, Grissom thought to himself, I hope that's not all I'm about to get.

* * *

"Okay, I'm dressed. Let's go," Sara told Nick, as she came down the stairs.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Sara? Maybe we should just call Brass back and let him handle it," Nick suggested.

Before Sara could answer him, Connor came barreling through the front door, loaded down with the bags of school supplies and take out. "Mom, you're up!" he exclaimed. When Sara grabbed hold of Connor and held him tightly to her, Connor said, "Mom, you're squishing me to death, and you're squishing your food."

"I'm sorry. I just…I just thought you were gone," she told them.

"I was, but I came back. Hey, Nick. Hey, Greg," Connor said to Nick and Greg. He then turned to Catherine and Warrick and asked, "Who are you?"

Catherine answered him first. "I'm Catherine, and this is Warrick. We work with your mom and dad at the lab."

"I didn't see you there yesterday."

"That's because it was our day off."

"Oh. Why are you here now? Are you having a party?"

"No, we just…um…we wanted to see how your mom's doing. She hasn't been feeling well lately."

"I know," Connor said, turning to Sara. "You've been crying again, haven't you?"

"No," Sara answered.

"Yes, you have. I can tell." Connor walked over to Greg and crossed his arms. "I thought you said you wouldn't let it happen again," he told Greg.

"I did. It wasn't me this time."

"Then who was it?"

Before Greg could answer, Grissom walked in the front door with Ava. Sara rushed over to them and put her arms out. "Give her to me," she ordered.

"Okay," Grissom said, handing Sara the baby.

"How could you?" Sara asked.

"How could I what?"

"Take them, to _there_ of all places."

"To Target?" Grissom asked, confused. "Did you want me to take them to Wal-mart instead?"

"Wait. So you took the kids to Target, not to Lady Heather's house?" Greg asked Grissom.

"Heather's? Why would I take them to Heather's?" Grissom asked. He looked at the expressions on his coworkers' faces and at Sara's death grip on Ava and realized the answer to his own question. He turned to Sara and said, "Because you thought I took-took the kids."

"Didn't you?" Sara asked.

"No. I took them to get school supplies. Connor said you were supposed to take him, but you obviously weren't in any condition to do so. Didn't you see my note?"

"What note?"

"The one I left by the bed."

"There wasn't any note by the bed."

"I left one on the nightstand."

"No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did. Maybe it fell off."

"I'll go check," Warrick offered and left the room.

"So that's what this is all about. You were gathering the troops. What were you going to do, send out a search party?" Grissom asked Sara

"Something like that," she answered.

"Sara, I would never take the kids from you."

"Really? And how was I supposed to know that?"

"Because I thought you knew me."

"So did I, but then I found you in bed with someone else, and I realized I didn't know you at all."

"Well, I guess I could say the same thing about you when I found out we had a son you never told me about."

At that moment, Warrick came back downstairs with a piece of paper in his hand. "I found the note. It was under the bed. The ceiling fan must have blown it off." He handed the piece of paper to Sara. She sat down on the sofa, read the note, and began to cry.

Connor walked over to his mother and gave her a hug. "I'm not going to leave you, Mom. Neither is Ava. We're a team, remember?" Connor's comment only made Sara cry harder.

"Okay. Um, we're going to go," Catherine told Grissom and Sara. "Warrick and I have to go to work soon, and I've got to make sure Lindsey eats something more for dinner than microwave popcorn."

"Yeah, Greg and I are going to go, too," Nick told them.

"We are?" Greg asked.

"Yes, we are."

"Okay then. Sara, if you need me, you know where to reach me," Greg said. As he passed Grissom, he nodded and said, "Grissom."

"Greg," Grissom responded.

"Welcome back, Grissom," Nick said, following him.

"Yeah, welcome back," Warrick added.

"We'll, uh, see you later," Catherine said. When all four were out the door, she added, "Well, that was awkward."

"You're not kidding," Warrick said.

* * *

"I thought you should know Gil's back," Catherine told Ecklie, as she walked into his office.

"Since when?" Ecklie asked.

"Apparently since this morning."

"Did he happen to mention if or when he plans on coming back here?"

"You know, Conrad, I didn't think to ask him. I was too busy trying to help Sara figure out where Gil had taken the kids."

"The kids? Who, Ava and the dog?"

"No, Ava and Connor."

"Who's Connor? Their cat or something?"

"No, their son."

"Their what?"

"Their son."

"What? When did this happen?"

"Oh, I'd say about nine years and nine months ago, give or take a few weeks."

"So last year when Gil said they'd first become intimate about nine years ago, or I guess about ten years ago now, he wasn't talking about emotional intimacy."

"No, he was talking about sexual intimacy. You were right, and I was wrong. There, I admit it."

"And neither one of them has thought to mention the fact that they have a son together this entire time?"

"I don't think Gil knew. I think he would have told me if he did."

"And Sara?"

"I have no idea what was or is going on in that girl's head. She hasn't talked to me about it yet. I don't even know if she plans to. I wouldn't even know there was a Connor if it wasn't for Ronnie, and she heard about him from Hodges."

"Sara confided in Hodges? Somehow I doubt that."

"No. From what I understand, Hodges was here when Connor and Sara's friend Cameron paid her a surprise visit yesterday morning."

"And where was I?"

"At home asleep? How am I supposed to know?"

"Well, this is just great. How exactly am I supposed to spin this?'

"Here's a better question. How is this going to effect graveyard?"

"What do you mean?"

"What I mean is Gil just up and disappears one day. He doesn't tell anyone where he's going. He doesn't tell anyone when he's coming back. Nick and I step in. We keep graveyard running. We don't complain. We don't ask for more money, and now Gil just gets to waltz back in here and pick up where he left off. Is that what's going to happen, Conrad? Because if it is, I have a really big problem with that."

"I don't know, Catherine. I haven't thought that far ahead yet."

"Well, you better start thinking because if Sara has her way, Gil may very well be sleeping here tonight."

"We're not the Motel 6, Catherine. What does she want me to do, leave the light on for him?"

"You got me."


	54. Chapter 54

Grissom didn't kidnap them, Sara thought. He just took them to Target to get Connor's school supplies because I was too drugged up to do it. He was trying to do something good for me and the kids, and I accuse him of a felony. What a way to welcome your husband home, Sara. What a way to win him back.

Sara closed her eyes. She wished she could go back an hour. She wished she could just jump in a DeLorean and drive back to the moment she woke up. She would have done things differently. She would have just gotten in the shower, put on some clean clothes, picked up around the house, and calmly waited for her family to come home. She wouldn't have automatically assumed the worst. She wouldn't have made a scene in front of their friends.

Sara opened her eyes and saw her son still standing in front of her. She couldn't go back. Doc Brown and Marty McFly weren't waiting outside for her with their automotive time machine. They weren't going to help her erase her past. She wasn't going to be able to change what she did.

"Mom, please stop crying," Connor implored.

Sara wiped at the tears on her face. "I'm sorry, Connor. I'll try."

"No, I'm sorry. I should have waited for you. I was just scared you were going to sleep all day, and then the stores would be closed, and I wouldn't have anything to take to school tomorrow."

"It's okay, baby. You did the right thing. I'm just stupid. I didn't think."

"You're not stupid, Mom, just paranoid."

"So you keep telling me."

Connor held up the bag of food. "We brought you something to eat."

Sara took the bag. "Thank you," she told him, as she tried to put a smile on her face. "It smells good."

"Do you want me to get you a fork and some water?"

"That'd be nice. Thank you.'

"You're welcome," Connor said before running into the kitchen.

Sara stood up and placed Ava in her playpen. She then turned to Grissom. "I'm sorry. I woke up, and they were gone, and my mind just went to the worst place. I've been doing that a lot lately."

"It's okay," Grissom responded quietly.

"No, it's not."

"We'll talk about it later after they've gone to bed."

Sara nodded and wiped another tear from her face, as Connor came back into the living room with her fork and a bottle of water.

"Here you go," he told Sara.

"Thank you," she said, taking the items from Connor and sitting back down on the couch. Connor sat next to her. "So did you get everything you needed?" she asked him.

Connor nodded. "Everything on the list. I also got a new Lego set. Look," he told Sara, pulling a box of Lego's out of one of the plastic bags.

"Bionicle: Toa Undersea Attack, 401 pieces," Sara said, reading the box. "That must have been pretty expensive." Connor shrugged. Sara looked over at Grissom and said, "You didn't have to do that."

"He can be very persuasive," Grissom responded.

"Tell me about it."

"Do you want to help me put it together later?" Connor asked Sara.

"Sure, but we can't stay up all night doing it. You have school tomorrow," Sara answered.

"I know. I know." Connor pulled another item out of another bag. "Look what Ava got."

"A Sing & Play Puppy."

"You put it on the side of Ava's crib, and when she pulls the bone, the puppy sings or plays music or makes sounds."

"I see that. Won't that be nice and loud."

"It's better than her screaming."

"True. It looks like you had quite a shopping spree. Have you eaten?"

"Uh-huh. We went to McDonald's."

"Did you now?"

"We both had salads, I swear," Connor lied.

"Is that why your breath smells like chicken nuggets?" Sara asked.

"I think the kid in the next booth had some. You probably smell it on my clothes."

"Hmm. I didn't know chicken nuggets smelled strong enough to leave an odor on your clothes."

"Well, they do. All those poor, sad, dead chickens," Connor said, poking his bottom lip out in a pout and sniffing.

Sara shook her head. She knew when she was being conned by an eight-year-old, but she chose to let it go. "Did either of you feed Ava?"

"Dad did this morning after you fell asleep."

"Did he now? That must have been interesting," Sara said, trying to picture Grissom giving Ava a bottle.

"I told him how," Connor said.

"He was very helpful. It seems I have a lot to learn about babies," Grissom added.

"Yeah, like how to put a diaper on one. Ava's fell off," Connor told Sara. Sara smiled at the image. "And how to put clothes on that match. If it wasn't for me, Ava would have on orange pants right now."

"With a pink and green shirt?" Sara asked.

"See, I told you she wouldn't like it," Connor told Grissom.

"Yes, you did."

"And guess what, Mom."

"What?" Sara asked.

"When we were at McDonald's, Ava got a poopy diaper, and Dad took her in the men's bathroom to change her, but there wasn't a changing table in there, so Dad went to the cashier and made her get the manager, and then he made the manager go see if anyone was in the women's bathroom, and then he made her stand guard outside so he could use the changing table in there."

"Wow. I'm sorry I missed that."

"Ooh, ooh," Connor said, as he bounced up and down on the couch, obviously excited to tell Sara the rest of the story. "And Dad also told the manager that he was going to write a complaint letter to the corporate office because men ought to be able to change their kids' diapers, too."

"Yeah, I guess they should," Sara said, as she looked over at Grissom and smiled. He shrugged in response. "Did you get to play on the playground?"

"Yep, and I'm not even tired."

"I can tell." Sara looked down at the food that she had barely touched. "You know what, honey. Why don't you go take all your school stuff upstairs and put it in your backpack for me, and then when I get through eating and feeding Ava, we'll work on your Lego's."

"Okay," Connor said, standing up and grabbing the bags off the sofa. "Do you want to help us?" he asked Grissom.

"Sure, I'd like that," Grissom told Connor.

"Cool," Connor said, running upstairs.

Grissom sat down on the arm chair across from Sara. "He called me Dad," he told Sara.

Perplexed by Grissom's statement, Sara asked, "Did you want him to call you something else?"

"No, Dad's fine. In fact, it's perfect."


	55. Chapter 55

Mason Cooley once wrote that "it is possible to interpret without observing, but not to observe without interpreting."

Grissom had been observing Sara all evening. As he sat across from her at the dining room table, helping Connor put together his new toy, Grissom noticed the things that he had failed to notice before: the dark circles that seemed to keep Sara's smile from reaching her eyes, the pronunciation of her collarbone beneath the straps of her tank top, how every now and then her hands would shake when she went to pick up a Lego piece. The more he watched his wife, the less angry he became about the earlier incident. Yes, it wasn't everyday that he was accused of kidnapping, but Sara was obliviously in a far worse place than him. At least, that was his interpretation.

Grissom was now waiting for Sara to come back downstairs. She was trying to get Ava to go to sleep. Connor had already beat his sister to bed. "I'm glad you're home," he had told Grissom before Sara had turned off the lights. Despite everything that had happened since he and Jim had walked into the townhouse that morning, he was glad, too.

He needed to remember that fact while he and Sara talked. As he fingered the picture of Sara, Connor, and Ava that Cameron had given him, her words echoed in his head. "I wanted you to have that picture so that you don't forget what's really important here, and it's not your anger or Sara's anger or who's right and who's wrong. What's important is them. They're your family." He hoped that he could keep those sentiments in mind.

When Sara came downstairs, Grissom shoved the picture back in his pocket. "Is she finally asleep?" he asked her.

"Finally," Sara answered, as she sat down next to him on the sofa. She picked the throw off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Whether she stays that way remains to be seen." Sara took a deep breath and looked at Grissom. "I want to apologize for before, for what happened this afternoon, for what happened this morning. I never wanted you to see me like that. That's one of the reasons I left to begin with."

"Were you having them back then, the panic attacks?" Grissom asked.

"No. At least, not to that extent."

"I wish you would have told me."

Sara looked down at her lap and began picking at the fringe on the throw. "I didn't want to burden you."

"Sara, it wouldn't have been a burden."

Sara shrugged in response. "You seemed so…I don't know, happy after I got out of the hospital."

"I was happy. You were alive. I didn't lose you."

"I know. I didn't want to ruin that for you. I didn't want to make you unhappy."

"So what did you think your leaving me was going to do, make me just that much happier?"

"I don't know. You seemed pretty happy New Year's Eve."

"Sara…"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Yes, you did. It's okay. I deserved it."

Sara took a deep breath and looked Grissom in the eye. "Do you love her?" she asked her husband.

"Who, Heather?" Grissom asked in turn. Sara nodded. "No. Of course not. Why would you think that?"

"Other than the obvious?" Sara answered sarcastically. She returned to picking at the throw. "You told me once that, for you, sex without love is pointless and sad. You had sex with Heather, so that can only mean one of two things. Either you're in love with her, or that night made you sad."

"Sara, I can honestly say that that night I spent with Heather was the saddest night of my life."

"I wish I could believe that."

Grissom reached over and lifted Sara's chin so that she was looking at him again. "Sara, Heather was a mistake, a one-time lapse in judgment that I would take back if I could."

Sara teared up at that statement. "You see, the problem with that, Gil, is that you said the same thing about me ten years ago."

"I know. I remember. The difference here is that I mean it now; I didn't mean it when it came to you."

"You could have fooled me. I took you nearly two years to even acknowledge that we slept together that night, and then you spent the next five reminding me of how much of a mistake you thought that night was. Do you have any idea what that did to me, especially considering…?" Sara asked, her voice trailing off at the end.

"Especially considering what?" Grissom asked. "That we made a baby that night? If I had known…"

"You would have what? Married me? Not pushed me away for seven years? What, Gil? What would you have done?"

"I don't know. You never gave me the opportunity to find out."

"I tried. How many times did I come to your office to talk to you? How many times did I ask you out to dinner? How many times did I try to get past that damn wall you had built around you? And how many of those times did you shoot me down? How many times did you turn around and throw Terry or Heather or Sofia or, hell, even Catherine in my face? I may have never given you the opportunity to find out what you would do, but you never gave me the opportunity to even get to that point."

"Okay, that may have been true for the first seven years, but what about afterwards? Why didn't you tell me about Connor once I did let you past that wall?"

"I guess I thought it was too late."

"Too late to tell me?"

Sara shrugged. "Too late to tell you. Too late to be Connor's parents. Too late to fight Michael for custody. Too late to defy the past. "

"Sara, we could have taken Michael to court. You didn't just have to give up."

"You don't know what he's like, Gil. I'm sure the Michael you met was nice and charming and funny. You don't know the real him. You don't know what he's capable of."

"Yes, I do. Your brother showed me the pictures. I know what he did to you when you tried to take Connor. I know what he did to our children."

Sara closed her eyes as she pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. "I wish Ritchie hadn't done that."

"So did I, at first. I couldn't get the pictures out of my mind, but now I'm glad he did. I think I understand a little better now about what you were going through when you left, what you've been going through for the last ten years."

Sara opened her eyes and looked at Grissom. "You understand?" she asked incredulously. "Seriously? Let me guess, you watched a lot of Dr. Phil and Oprah while you were in Florida. You convinced yourself that I was the poor, pathetic, little victim in all of this. After all, that's all I've been my whole life, right? A victim. Of my father's fist. My mother's knife. The system. Michael. Natalie. Hell, even you." Sara shook her head in frustration. "You couldn't be more wrong."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I wasn't Michael's victim, Gil. 'Victim' implies a certain degree of innocence, and I wasn't innocent. I deserved everything he did to me."

"Why? Because of what you did to Connor?"

"For starters."

"Sara, that's ridiculous."

"No, it's not. It's karma. You get what you give in this world, and I got mine."

"Sara, from what Richard told me, you only left Connor because Michael convinced you that you were a danger to him."

"But I let him convince me. I could have left long before it got to that point, but I didn't. I stayed, and I let Michael do those things to me because it's what I deserved."

"Sara, what could you have done that was so bad that you thought you deserved to get the crap beat out of you a daily basis?"

Instead of answering Grissom, Sara got up from the sofa and started picking up toys off the floor. Grissom got up and followed her. Taking her by the shoulders, Grissom turned Sara around so that she faced him. "Sara, please. Just answer my question. Make me understand what's going on here because it's obviously more than just your guilt over leaving our son. Michael's abuse started long before Connor came along, didn't it?"

"Yes," Sara conceded, pulling loose from Grissom's grip.

"So what happened? Why did you think that you deserved to be hurt like that?"

"Because I couldn't save him," Sara said quietly.

"Save who?" Grissom asked.

"My father. Because I couldn't save my father. Is that a good enough answer for you?" Sara asked. She didn't wait for an answer. Instead, she walked back across the room and sat on the sofa, wiping the tears from her face in the process.

Grissom, stunned by her response, stood alone for a minute before he, too, returned to the sofa. "Sara, you were just a little girl. You were just a twelve-year-old little girl who woke up one night and found her mother killing her father. No one in their right mind would have expected you to step in and stop her. No one would have expected you to save him, not even your father himself."

"You didn't know my father."

"You're right. I didn't, but I can't possibly believe that he would have wanted you to risk your own life to save his."

"But I didn't even try. I just stood there and let her do it."

"I thought your brother said that you didn't even know that you witnessed the murder until recently."

"He's right. Consciously, I didn't, but subconsciously, I think I always knew that I watched it happen. When I was in foster care, I used to lay awake at night, thinking about all the things that I could have done to save my father's life. The would-have, should-have, could-haves. I could have told a teacher that my father hit us. I could have called the police during one of my parents' fights. I could have paid more attention to what my mother was doing that day. I could have woken up earlier or gone to bed later. I could have told my mother that I was scared that there was a monster in my closet and insisted on sleeping with them. I could have pretended to be sick. I could have done a lot of things, Gil. If I had, my father would be here right now."

"Sara, you are not responsible for your father's death. Your mother is. You did nothing wrong."

"But she did it for us. She's said it over and over again. She killed my father to keep me and Ritchie safe. We're the reason he died. Mom was just the instrument of death."

"Sara…"

"Did Ritchie tell you that the kids at school made up a song about it?"

"About your father's murder?" Grissom asked. Sara nodded. "No," he answered.

"Well, they did. They used to sing it to me all the time. So did my foster siblings. My teachers and my foster parents never did anything about it. Do you want to hear it?"

"That won't be necessary."

"No, I think you should hear it. I like to think of it as the Sidle Family Theme Song, and technically, you're a Sidle now so you might as well learn it." Sara started to sing, " 'Laura Sidle got a knife. She cut her husband and ended his life. She stabbed him in the heart and head, until his blood soaked the walls and bed. She cut and cut until the cops were called; then off to jail Laura was hauled. If you ever find Laura by your bed, you better run or you'll too be dead.' It's catchy, don't you think?"

"Not particularly," Grissom said, as he thought about the teasing and other forms of childhood torture that Sara must have suffered at the hands of her classmates and foster siblings.

"Michael thought it was. It's actually a really good song to jump rope to. We'll have to teach it to Ava when she gets older."


	56. Chapter 56

"That way if, if I ever lose it like my mother did, Ava's classmates won't have to strain themselves coming up with a new song. Laura and Sara have the same amount of syllables. My name should fit right in," Sara continued.

"Is that what you're scared of, becoming your mother?" Grissom asked her.

"Aren't you? Can you honestly tell me that you've never closed your eyes at night and wondered if the next time you opened them, I would be standing over you with a kitchen knife?"

"Yes, I can honestly tell you that that thought has never crossed my mind."

"Then you're not as smart as I thought you were. History has a way of repeating itself, Gil. If I were you, I'd be scared of me. Hell, I'm scared of me."

"You shouldn't be. I've said it before, and I'm going to say it again. There's no such thing as a murder gene. You are not destined to become a murderer just because your mother was one."

"I remember when you first told me that. I wanted so badly to believe you. I wanted to believe that I wasn't capable of killing someone, that I was nothing like my mother, but it's not true. I am capable. If I had had the chance, I would have killed Natalie that night."

"But it wouldn't have been murder, Sara. It would have been self-defense."

"That's just a legal distinction, Gil. The end result is still the same. Natalie would have been dead, and it would have been my fault."

"No one would have blamed you if you had."

"I would have."

"Unjustly so. Look, Sara. I think that, under the right circumstances, we're all capable of killing someone. It comes along with being human."

"You're not."

"Yes, I am. You don't know what I went through that night you were missing. You don't know the things that went through my head. You don't know how many different ways I thought of torturing your location out of Natalie, how many times I wanted to walk into that jail cell and choke the life out of her, how many times I actually came close to doing it. If you had died, I think I would have killed her."

"But you didn't."

"And neither did you. That has to count for something." Sara shrugged in response. "You're here now. If you really believe that you're just a murder waiting to happen, why did you come back? Why did you go get Connor? Why did you have Ava?"

"I don't know."

"I think it's because you know deep down inside that you're not a danger to anyone other than yourself."

"Or it could just be that I'm a selfish bitch who wants what she wants and doesn't care if she has to hurt other people to get it."

"It's not selfish to want your kids."

"It is when they deserve better than you. Ava and Connor deserve to have a mother who's not crazy. They deserve to have a mother who didn't leave one of them and nearly kill the other. They don't deserve me."

"You're not crazy, Sara, and you didn't hurt Ava; Michael did."

"But I was the one who gave him the opportunity. I knew what he would do to me, but I went anyway because I was selfish and wanted my son back."

"Did you know you were pregnant at the time?"

"No."

"Then you didn't willingly put Ava at risk."

"So? I willingly walked out on Connor. No one put a gun to my head. You can't deny that I did that all on my own."

"Actually, I can. From what I've been told, you had more than a little encouragement in that department."

"You mean from Michael?" Grissom nodded. "Michael just confirmed what I've always known; I'm not cut out to be a mother."

"It didn't seem that way earlier. You were wonderful with them."

"Right. How about this morning? Was I wonderful then? This weekend was the first time that the three of us have ever really been alone together, and I couldn't even make it all the way through the weekend without having a panic attack."

"But they didn't cause your panic attack; I did."

"No, I did. I saw you standing there, and instead of being happy that you were finally home, I assumed the worst. I managed to convince myself that you were going to take them and leave the first chance you got."

"Well, I guess that explains your reaction when you woke up and found us gone. Like I said before, Sara, I'm not going to take them from you."

"You say that now, but one day you'll change your mind."

"Why are you so sure?"

"Because everyone leaves me in the end."

"Unless you leave them first."

"Touché," Sara said, a pained expression on her face. She looked up as Ava started to cry above them. "I should probably go get her before she wakes up Connor," she told Grissom, as she got up from the sofa. "I'll be right back."

When Sara returned a few minutes later with Ava in her arms, Grissom spoke first. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"No, you were right. I do have a tendency to leave people before they can leave me. I left Ritchie. I left Connor. I left you. You were just stating the obvious. You shouldn't have to apologize for that."

"But you seemed hurt by it."

"A lot of things hurt, Gil."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"So am I." Ava, who was facing Sara, grabbed a lock of her hair and yanked. "Ow," Sara muttered, as she removed her hair from Ava's hand. Ava babbled in response.

"Is she okay?" Grissom asked.

"Yeah, her sleeping schedule's just a little off is all, and apparently pulling my hair has become her new favorite activity," Sara answered, turning Ava around in her lap so that she faced Grissom on the sofa. Ava started clapping her hands together and laughing. "See, she thinks it's funny," Sara said. Ava squealed, seemingly in agreement.

"No. What I meant was is she okay physically. Your brother said she was premature. I know preemies can sometimes have problems."

"They can. So far, she's doing fine. When she first came home, we had to keep her hooked up to an apnea monitor for a few weeks, but other than that, she seems to be doing okay."

"An apnea monitor? So she would stop breathing?"

"Yeah, apparently it's fairly common in preemies. Ava's doctor said it's because the part of the central nervous system that controls breathing hasn't matured enough yet to allow for nonstop breathing, so the baby breathes in large bursts of breath followed by periods of shallow or no breathing."

"How long do the periods last?"

"About 15 seconds or so, but it feels like an eternity. The first time I heard that monitor go off, I think I stopped breathing, too. Actually, I think I stopped breathing every time it went off. I used to sit there and just watch the monitor, especially after she came home. I was scared if I walked away from it, even for a minute, it would go off, and I wouldn't hear it, and she wouldn't be able to start back breathing on her own."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for that."

Sara shrugged. "It wasn't your fault. You didn't know where we were."

"But I could have. Jim offered to find you, more than once. I kept turning him down."

"Don't worry about it. Kids weren't part of the deal when we got married. I get it."

"That's not it at all. At first, I turned him down because I thought that was what you wanted."

"It wasn't what I wanted. It's just what had to be."

"But after Greg told me that you had come home that night and that you were pregnant, I stayed away because I thought you deserved better than me. I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"Why? Because you were the one who deserved better?"

"No, because you needed me and our kids needed me, and that should have been all that mattered." From Sara's lap, Ava reached her hand out to Grissom. When Grissom extended his hand to her, Ava grabbed hold of a finger and squealed. As he watched his daughter play with his hand, Grissom asked Sara, "Does she still have apnea?"

"No. I guess you could say she grew out of it."

"That's good. Otherwise, is she just like any other, uh…I'm sorry. I don't even know how old she is."

"She was five months old on Friday, and to answer your other question, no, she's not like every other five month old. Because she was two months early, developmentally, she's really more like a three month old. Her pediatrician assures me that she'll eventually catch up. She already has in some areas. She's already playing with her feet, and all the baby books say she's not supposed to do that until she's around five months, but in other areas, she's still very much a three month old."

"Like what?"

"Like how long she sleeps, which isn't very long. She's still not sleeping through the night or the day now that I've started back to work. It's okay. I really haven't been sleeping through the night or the day either so at least we're on the same schedule."

"I know. Both Jim and Richard told me you weren't sleeping."

"I guess the raccoon eyes gave it away."

"They also said that you've been having nightmares."

"Doesn't everyone?"

"Not every night."

"Well, you know how I've always been an overachiever."

"Were you having them before you left?"

"Sometimes."

"You should have told me."

"Like I said before, I didn't want to burden you. Besides, when exactly was I supposed to tell you? We were on different shifts. We lived in the same house and worked in the same building, yet we hardly ever saw each other. I'm still surprised we managed to get on the same time schedule long enough to conceive a child, let alone have some deep discussion about my dreams."

Grissom didn't say anything at first because he knew that Sara was right. After she had moved to swing, they had seen more of the dog than they had each other. The asynchrony in their schedules was one of the reasons that he hadn't realized that Sara was in trouble until it was too late. Grissom decided to change the subject and ask Sara about their son. "How is Connor sleeping?" he asked.

"Better than the rest of us. Every now and then he'll have a nightmare about Michael or Natalie, but otherwise he's doing fine."

"He's knows about Natalie?"

"Unfortunately."

"How?"

"He googled me. He told Cameron that he was trying to find out where I was so that he could come see me."

"He's just eight. How was he going to do that? Don't tell me Michael was actually going to bring him."

"No. He said that he had been saving up his lunch money so he could buy a bus ticket to Vegas."

"He was going to run away?"

"Yeah. I guess he gets that from me."

"So what did he do about lunch? Starve?"

"No. He told Cameron that his friend Robby would split his lunch with him."

"Well, the kid's resourceful. I'll give him that."

"Yeah, he is us," Sara said, as she got up from the sofa with Ava. "Look, I, um, appreciate the fact that you're asking about him and Ava. I really do, and I'm very grateful that you took care of them today while I was sleeping and that you haven't yelled at me yet. I didn't expect you to be this kind and understanding about things, and while I'd love to sit here all night and chat, under the circumstances, I should probably go upstairs and start packing."

"What?" Grissom asked, confused by the abrupt change in conversation.

"I should have never presumed it was okay for me to move back in. It's just you weren't here, and I really didn't have anywhere else to go. Ritchie offered to get us a hotel room until we could find a new place, but he's already spent so much on me the last year, and I couldn't let him spend anymore. I guess I could have asked one of the guys if we could stay with them. I just figured that if I did that, we would wear out our welcome pretty quickly, and then it would be all awkward at work, so I just moved in. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. This is your place, not mine, and it's obvious that you don't want us here."

"Sara, I never said that I didn't want you here."

"You didn't have to. I can see it in your eyes. It's okay. I understand. You've never wanted kids, and now you have two. I ran out on you. I lied to you. I got you in trouble at work. I get it," Sara said, as she backed towards the stairs. "I wouldn't want me back either. Um, you're probably going to want to paint over the butterflies upstairs, so just let me know how much the paint is going to cost, and I'll give you the money for it and for whatever you spent on the kids today. And don't worry. Ava and Connor are my responsibility, not yours, so I won't be asking for child support or anything in the divorce. Or are you going to want an annulment?" Sara asked him. Before Grissom could answer her question, Sara answered it for him. "Of course you are. You're Catholic. You're probably going to want to get married in the church one day, and you can't do that if you're divorced. Considering everything I've done to you, your lawyer should be able to prove fraud fairly easily. Just let him know that I won't fight it, okay?"

"Sara, wait," Grissom said, finally standing up in protest.

Sara held up her free hand. "No, don't. It's better this way. I'm not going to force you to stay in this marriage when I know that you don't want to. It's not good for you, me, or the kids," Sara said, before turning to go upstairs. Her back to Grissom, she added, "For what it's worth, I never let Michael touch me the entire time you and I were together. You were my one and only. You still are."

As Sara headed upstairs, Grissom muttered, "What did I say?"

* * *

Sara pulled the suitcases out from under the bed and placed them on top of the comforter. Although she had managed to keep most of the tears at bay while she and Grissom talked, they were now freely flowing down her cheeks. They had been ever since she put Ava back in her crib. She didn't want to leave, but it really was for the best. She didn't want her children to grow up in a loveless household. She didn't want them to end up like her and Ritchie.

As Sara started emptying the top dresser drawer into the suitcases, she heard footsteps behind her.

"Don't go," Grissom told her.

"I have to," she responded.

"No, you don't," Grissom said, taking the clothes out of her hand and placing them on the bed. "Look, Sara. I know it seems like I'm not happy to be home, and I'm sorry for that. I am happy to be here, and I'm happy you and the kids are here. This is just hard for me. I'm still trying to digest it all."

Sara picked the clothes back up and threw them in the suitcase. She then looked at Grissom and asked, "Do you think this hasn't been hard for me? Coming back here to this job and this house and this bed? I see Heather everywhere I look in this house. I see her with you. And yet every morning, I come in, and I lay down on the same bed that you were screwing her on, and I take a shower in the same bathroom, and I cook in the same kitchen, and I sit on the same couch, and all I can think about while I'm doing those things is the two of you on that bed and in that shower and in that kitchen and on that couch. Do you think that's been easy for me?"

"No, I don't."

"Oh, and then there's work. That hasn't exactly been a breeze either. Everyone looks at me like I'm going to lose it at any minute. As well they should. I actually did lose it in a parking garage the other morning."

"I know. Jim told me."

"Did he tell you that I also lost it when I ran into your little girlfriend at my crime scene?"

"No, and she's not my girlfriend."

"Sorry, your mistress then."

Grissom grimaced at Sara's clarification of Heather's status and asked, "Did you have another panic attack?"

"No, I punched the bitch."

"Sara…"

"Don't Sara me. The bitch deserved it."

"She could press charges."

"She could, but she won't because she knows that no one is going to back her story up. They're all going to say she tripped in those stupid heels of hers, so don't worry, Gil. You're not going to have to choose between us in court."

"That's not what I was worried about."

"So what are you worried about then, her face? Don't worry about that either. Your mistress is still just as pretty as she was on New Year's Eve. I didn't do any permanent damage."

"I'm not worried about Heather's face. I'm worried about you."

Sara made a noise under her breath before asking, "Did Jim tell you about the pools?"

"No. What pools?"

"The lab rats had a pool going as to how long I'd last before I had a break down and Catherine had to fire me. When Catherine didn't fire me for punching Heather, they replaced the crazy pool with a 'who's your baby's daddy' pool. That one has been a real blast, let me tell. I mean I just love it when everyone talks about me behind my back and misinterprets everything I do and say. Just in case you were wondering, you're not the top contender in that pool; Nick is. Your little buddy Hodges seems to think we're sleeping together. No, let me rephrase that. Your little buddy Hodges thinks I'm sleeping with every guy on the team."

"Hodges is not my little buddy."

"Try telling him that. He wants to be your golden boy so badly that he broke into all of our lockers the other day just so he could get DNA samples and prove to you that I'm the slut of the year."

"I'll talk to him about it."

"Don't bother. Ecklie already did. I didn't do any good. Aren't you the least bit curious if he's right?"

"No."

"Why not? Do you think I'm not pretty enough for Nick or Warrick or Greg? I know that I'm not even in the same league as the women the guys are used to dating, but they could always put a bag over my head and pretend."

"Sara, that's ridiculous. Of course, I think you're pretty enough."

"Really? Because I wasn't pretty enough for you to introduce me to Jack Malone."

"Jack Malone? What does he have to do with anything?"

"Nothing," Sara said, grabbing another handful of clothes out of the drawer. "Everything."

"I did introduce you to him."

"Yeah, as your dog walker."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You said, and I quote, 'This is Sara Sidle. She sometimes walks my dog for me.'"

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what? Like I was just some woman who picked up your dog's crap?"

"Yes, like that. What did you want me to do, Sara, introduce you as my wife? It was your idea to keep our marriage a secret to begin with."

"No, but would it have killed you to tell him I was your girlfriend?"

"No, but I…I wasn't thinking."

"Of course, you were. You're always thinking. That's what you do. Tell me this. If it had been Heather standing there in the doorway in all her leather-clad glory, would you have said the same thing?"

"That she walked my dog? No. Heather doesn't walk Hank."

"No, you wouldn't dare demean her like that. You just save the dog walking for us ugly chicks."

"Sara, this is insane."

"Is it? I thought you said I was nothing like my mother."

"That's not what…" Grissom began to respond, but he stopped when he heard his son's voice.

"Mom?" Connor asked from the doorway.

"Connor, what are you doing up?" Sara asked him.

"I heard you fighting."

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't realize we were that loud," Sara said, laying down the clothes and walking over to him.

"Why are the suitcases out? Are we leaving?"

"No, you're not," Grissom answered.

"Yes, we are," Sara retorted.

"Why?" Connor asked, his lips trembling. "Is it because I asked him to take me to McDonald's? I promise, I'll never eat chicken again."

"No, it's not because you went to McDonald's."

Connor looked over at Grissom, tears in his eyes. "Then it's because he doesn't want me. I'm too old."

"Where would you get an idea like that?"

"From Robby."

"The same Robby who split his lunch with you?"

"Uh-huh," Connor said, as the tears moved from his eyes to his cheeks.

"Why would Robby say that?"

"Because he's in foster care, and no one will adopt him. He said that all the parents want are cute babies. They don't want older kids like us."

"Honey, that's not true."

"Yes, it is. No one adopted you and Uncle Ritchie."

"But that was different."

"Why?"

"It just was. Besides, you're not in foster care; you're with me."

"Which makes it worse," Connor said, sniffing. He looked over at Grissom and said, "He's my real dad. He's supposed to want me."

"I do want you," Grissom told Connor. "And I want you, your sister, and your mother to stay."

"Then why are we leaving?" Connor asked.

"Because your mother won't listen to me."

"Mom, please listen to him. Please. I don't want to go. I want to stay here."

"I don't know, Connor."

"I promise I'll be good. I'll never eat meat again, and I'll clean my room, and I'll help you with Ava, and I'll walk Hank, and I won't leave my video games all over the floor for you to trip on. I promise I'll do whatever you want me to do. Please, just don't make us leave."

"We'll talk about it in the morning, Connor. Right now you need to go to bed."

"But you said we were going to be a family."

"I know."

"But how can we be a family if we're not living here?"

"That's a good question, Sara," Grissom said.

Sara glared at Grissom and said, "You don't have to live under the same roof with someone to be family, Connor. Uncle Ritchie's our family, and we don't live with him."

"We used to," Connor said. "Are we going back there?"

"I don't know where we're going."

"Then why can't we stay here?"

"Because we can't."

"Do you want him?"

"What?"

"Do you want Dad?"

Sara looked over at Grissom. "Of course, I want your father."

"Then what's the problem? He wants us. We want him"

Sara honestly told her son, "Because I don't believe him."

"Why not?" Connor asked. "I do. He bought me a Lego, and he bought Ava that puppy for her crib, and he promised to write a letter to Ronald McDonald about the changing tables in the bathroom, and he watched us while you were sleeping. He didn't have to do that."

"I know."

"He also came home. He could have stayed in Florida and gone to Disney World, but he didn't. He came back here. I would have gone to Disney World."

"I know," Sara said, stroking her son's cheek. "What are you, like forty?"

"No. I'm nine."

"Not yet."

"Okay, then I'm almost nine. Why can't I round up?"

"Because you're growing up fast enough without rounding."

Connor rolled his eyes at Sara's response and wiped at the tears on his face with his pajama top. "What do you want Dad to do so you'll believe him and we can stay?" he asked Sara.

"I don't know, Connor."

"Well, shouldn't you figure that out before you finish packing our suitcases?"

"Yes, I guess I should."


	57. Chapter 57

What did she want Grissom to do?

Sara honestly didn't know. If someone had asked her that same question yesterday, she would have unequivocally stated that she wanted him to do what he did today. She would have wanted him to be kind to her and the kids. She would have wanted him to be understanding. She would have wanted him to be forgiving.

But now that he was here and he had been those things, Sara realized how wrong she would have been. After everything she had done, it just wasn't natural for Grissom to be this amiable. He should be angry at her. He should be screaming or throwing things or doing something other than building Legos, changing diapers, and trying to convince her that she wasn't her mother.

Sara feared that Grissom's placidity wasn't permanent, but merely the calm before the storm. What she wanted to do was run before the storm broke, before the rain started to fall and wash away her hopes for the future, before the lightening illuminated both the sky and her past malfeasances, before the peals of thunder drowned out what little laughter she had in her life; but she didn't know if she could do that. She had made promises to her children, promises that Connor had just reminded her of. She had promised them that they would be a family, that she would do everything she could to ensure that they had a better childhood than she did, that she would find a way to put her marriage back together.

The only problem was those promises had to compete with her infinite insecurities, and right now the insecurities were winning. Sara looked down at her son, who had finally fallen asleep against her shoulder. He wanted so badly to stay. He wanted to believe that his father wanted them, that they were going to have the future Sara had promised him, that their life with Grissom would be completely different from their life with Michael. Sara wanted to believe in those things, too, but unlike Connor she was old enough to realize that one's wants and one's actions weren't always the same thing, that Grissom coming home wasn't the equivalent of Grissom wanting to come home.

Sara heard Ava cry for her from the room next door. She really doesn't want to sleep tonight, Sara thought, or maybe she just doesn't want to be alone. Sara got up from the bottom bunk and pulled the covers up over Connor. Even with Sara beside him, he had managed to kick them off. He had been doing that since he was a baby. Sara wondered if it had anything to do with her, if he had been so deprived of his mother's love as an infant that he now rejected even the most artificial forms of warmth. She hoped that wasn't the case. She didn't want Connor to grow up cold, either physically or metaphorically. She didn't want him to be like her.

Sara gave him a kiss and then walked down the hall to Ava's room. Grissom had beat her to the room and was standing next to the crib with Ava in his arms.

"You don't have to do that," Sara told him. "I can get her."

"It's okay. I've got her. I think I'm finally getting the hang of this diaper thing."

"If you're sure."

"I am."

Sara didn't know what else to say so she left the nursery and walked back to their bedroom. Her suitcases and clothes were no longer on the bed. Grissom had apparently moved them while she was in Connor's room. Maybe he really does want us to stay, Sara thought, or maybe he just moved them aside so he could get some sleep. Too tired to care which reason was correct, Sara laid down on her side of the bed and closed her eyes. She opened them when she felt Grissom sit down next to her.

"I managed to get the diaper to stay on on my first try," Grissom told her, as he laid Ava down between them.

"That's good," Sara replied.

"Have you decided what you want to do?"

"No."

"Have you decided what you want me to do?"

"No."

"Do you want to go to counseling?"

"I'm already seeing a counselor."

"I meant the two of us together."

"I don't know."

"Do you want me to call Jack Malone and tell him we're married?"

"No, that won't be necessary."

"Do you want me to fire Hodges?"

"Yes," Sara said, before she reconsidered. "No. As much as I despise the man, the lab needs him."

"Do you want me to tell you that you're beautiful?"

"No. I want you to think that I'm beautiful."

"I do think that, Sara. I always have."

"It doesn't feel that way when you're constantly choosing her over me."

"I didn't choose Heather. It just happened."

"The sex maybe, but not your relationship with her. You chose that, and you keep on choosing it. Every time Heather gets into trouble, you drop everything, including me, so you can go ride in on your white horse and save her."

"I won't do it anymore."

"Yes, you will. You won't be able to help yourself. She's just too pretty to say no to."

"That's not true, Sara. I can say no. I will say no. I promise you that Heather Kessler is out of my life for good."

"I can't be like her, Gil. I can't do the whips and the chains and the leather. I can't play her type of sex games, not after what Michael did to me. I can't be her substitute."

"I never expected you to. I never wanted you to."

"And I won't walk away from my kids, not again. We're a package deal. You choose me, you choose them."

"There is no choice, Sara. You're my family. All three of you are my family."

Sara began to cry when she heard Grissom's response. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I never told you about Connor. I'm sorry I ran away. I'm sorry about a lot of things."

Grissom reached over and brushed the tears from Sara's cheeks. "So am I. I should have let you in a lot sooner. I should have trusted that you would come back. I should have hid the liquor bottles and locked the front door on New Year's Eve. I should have gone after you. I'm sorry that I didn't do any of those things."

"And I'm sorry I picked a fight with you earlier. You have been nothing but good to me since you walked in the door this morning, maybe a little too good, in fact. I don't know why I did that. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Maybe we can find out together, if you decide to stay."

"I don't know," Sara said, still unsure of her decision.

"I'm not going to pressure you, Sara. It has to be your choice. I just hope you choose to stay. I hope you choose me."

"Choose me. Pick me. Love me," Sara mumbled.

"What?" Grissom asked.

"Nothing."

"Maybe you should try to get some sleep. You still look tired."

"I am tired, but I have to get Connor up in a few hours. He has school."

"I know. I'll set the alarm."

"What about Ava?"

"I'll watch her."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Just close your eyes. Maybe things will be clearer in the morning."

"Maybe," Sara said, as she closed her eyes. She sure hoped they were.


	58. Chapter 58

"You should be happy to know that I've officially ruled you out as a baby-daddy," Hodges told Warrick, as he stood behind the CSI and peered over his shoulder.

Warrick sighed and put down the pen he had been using to mark the blood stains on the shirt in front of him. He knew if he didn't acknowledge Hodges now, the man would be looking over his shoulder all night. "And here I thought Ava looked just like me," he replied.

"Nope. Nick or Greg maybe, but not you."

Warrick stood up and turned to face Hodges. "Hodges, you and I both know that kid is Grissom's. Just give it up already."

"Sorry. No can do. Someone's got to look out for Grissom."

"I think Grissom's perfectly capable of looking out for himself."

"But he's not here, now is he?"

"Actually, he is. He came back this morning."

"What?"

"Grissom's back."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Hodges, I called you this morning and asked you if you'd seen Grissom. What did you think that was all about?"

"I just figured it was one of Sanders' phone games."

"I'm too old to play phone games, Hodges. So is Greg."

"Really? Then why does he keep calling me up and saying, 'I saw what you did, and I know who you are'?"

"Maybe because he saw what you did with Wendy in the supply closet and he knows who you are. You've got to keep that stuff at home, man. Nobody wants to see it."

"I thought the door was locked."

"Well, it wasn't. What are you doing here anyway?"

"I had some tests to run."

"You mean you had some DNA tests to run. You know Catherine's not going to authorize overtime on that."

"I didn't expect her to. I consider this pro bono work."

"You're toast if Ecklie finds out."

"Who's going to tell him, you?"

"Maybe, if you keep giving Sara grief."

"Do you see Sara here?"

"No. Funny. I don't see Wendy here either. What's wrong? You couldn't get her to do your dirty work for you?"

"No. She's not answering my calls."

"Gee, and I wonder why. Could it have something to do with a certain blonde actress who was here yesterday morning?"

"How do you know about that?"

"You have your way, Hodges. I have mine. Speaking of, how did you get my DNA?"

"You know that gum you were chewing last night?"

"Uh, yeah," Warrick said. He started to laugh at thought of Hodges dumpster diving, but then he stopped when he remembered where he actually spit out the gum. "Man, I spit that out in the toilet."

"That you did."

Warrick shook his head in disgust. "Okay, that's just wrong on so many levels."

"Hey, a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. By the way, you might want to try a courtesy flush next time. It is a communal bathroom."

"Hodges!"

"I'm just saying," Hodges said, throwing up his hands.

"Well, can you say it somewhere else? I've got to get this shirt done."

"Sure. No problem," Hodges said, walking out of the room. While ordinarily he would take offense to being dismissed by one of the field guys, tonight his mind was somewhere else. Tonight the boss was back in town. "I wonder if I should send him flowers?" Hodges asked himself.

* * *

A scientist learns early on his education about the body's flight or fight response to stress. When the body perceives an outside force as a shock or a threat, it releases hormones that allow the person to either run faster from the threat or to fight harder. Grissom could only wonder if Sara was experiencing a similar response to his homecoming, if in her current emotional state she had somehow managed to misconceive his words and good intentions as threats to her and the children. Right now, she seemed to be alternating between fleeing and fighting, throwing her things into the suitcases one minute, fighting with him about Jack and Heather the next. She was all over the place, and he didn't know what to do about it.

Grissom had thought that he would be okay if he took Cameron's advice. He had put his anger aside and put Sara and the kids first. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't say some of the things that had been going through his mind since Michael Barrett had shown him that picture of Connor and bought him that beer. He didn't press Sara for the uncomfortable details of what Michael had done to her or of what she had been doing for the last ten months. Instead, he had let her talk. More than that, he had tried to console Sara and convince her that she wasn't who she thought she was--a bad mother, a bad daughter, a wife who was ugly, unloved, and sexually inadequate--but she had not listened. Sara had only heard what she had wanted to hear--that he didn't want her, that he didn't want the kids, that he only wanted Heather. Somehow he had to convince her that that was the farthest thing from the truth.

"Do you have any idea how I'm supposed to do that?" he asked Ava. Grissom had put her in the baby swing so that he could figure out how to work all of her toys. So far, he was having about as much luck with the toys as he was with Sara. He had thought about waking Sara and asking her what each toy was for, but then he had remembered what had happened the last time he had woken her up. She had had a panic attack. Rather than risk scaring Sara again and giving her just one more reason to run, Grissom had decided to try to find instructions for the toys on the internet. Right now, he was scrolling through the pages of various toy store websites, trying to match up the pictures on the screen with the toys on the floor. The pages, however, never seemed to end. Apparently, gone were the days of simple rattles and plastic teething rings for kids Ava's age. Now they had their own gyms, mats, activity centers, and something called Baby Einstein to entertain them.

Grissom took a break from the screen and looked over at Ava. She was paying more attention to the Winnie the Pooh mobile that hung from the top of the swing than she was to him. "I'll take your silence as a no. That's okay. Neither do I." Removing his glasses and rubbing his eyes, Grissom continued to talk to Ava. "Maybe I should just put you down on the floor with the toys and let you crawl to whichever one you want. You can probably figure them out before I can. Or are you too young to crawl? Because I have no idea. I guess I'm going to have to look that one up as well."

Grissom put his glasses back on and sighed. It was going to be a long night.


	59. Chapter 59

"Did Lily catch Lindsey sneaking out again?" Warrick asked Catherine. He had just walked into her office and witnessed the strange look she had on her face as she hung up the phone.

"No, it wasn't my mother," Catherine answered.

"Then who was it?"

"Grissom."

"Let me guess. Sara kicked him out, and he needs a place to stay."

"No. He wanted to know how to work Ava's toys."

"They're baby toys. How hard can they be?"

"We're talking about Gil here. He probably overanalyzed them to death."

"True," Warrick said, and then he started to laugh.

"What?" Catherine asked.

"I just had this mental picture of Griss sitting on the floor playing Barbies."

"Ava's not old enough yet for Barbie. She'd eat Barbie's shoes."

"I know, but still. Can you imagine? I'd pay good money to see that."

"So would I."

"Good news, by the way. Hodges informs me that I'm not Ava's father."

"Did you think you were?"

"Well, there was this one time in the bathroom at the Denny's out on Fremont Street, but I swear it didn't mean anything," Warrick answered in jest.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny. Do I want to know how he got your DNA to find that out?"

"Nope."

"Is it that bad?"

"Let's just say I wish I didn't know. So did Ecklie tell you what he's going to do yet about Grissom?"

"Unfortunately not."

"Maybe Grissom won't want to come back."

"Of course he will. What else he going to do, be a stay-at-home dad?"

"Stranger things have happened."

"Come on. He can't even figure out that a Kickin' Bobbin' Gym means you stick the baby under the gym and let her kick and bob at the toys that are hanging from it. What do you think he would do if he had to entertain the kids full-time, and not just while Sara's sleeping?"

"I don't know. Turn them into one big science experiment?"

"Exactly. Sara would come home one day and find Gil and the kids in the back yard with a dead pig and bunch of flies. And you know how that would end up."

"Bye-bye Grissom?"

"Exactly."

"I wonder if Fisher Price even makes toy microscopes and slides."

"Probably not. Like that would stop him."


	60. Chapter 60

…_Hush, little baby, don't say a word. Mama's going to buy you a mockingbird…_

"_Did you order something?" Connor asked Grissom, as he got out of the car and slung his backpack over his shoulder._

"_No, why?" Grissom asked, following him._

"_There's a box on the steps."_

"_Maybe your mom did."_

…_And if that mockingbird don't sing, Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring…._

"_It's got your name on it," Connor told Grissom, as he picked up the box._

"_That's odd. Does it say who it's from?"_

"_No. Maybe Mom ordered it for you."_

"_Maybe."_

_Connor shook the box, while Grissom unlocked the front door. "It sounds like it's playing music."_

…_And if that diamond ring turns brass, Mama's going to buy you a looking glass…._

_When Grissom opened the door, Connor ran inside with the box and put it on the kitchen counter. "It's quiet in here."_

"_Your mom took some cold medicine before I left. She's probably still asleep."_

"_Does she still have a fever?"_

"_Yes."_

"_I hope I don't get whatever it is. I don't like being sick."_

"_Neither do I."_

"_Where's Hank? He's usually waiting for me by the door."_

"_I don't know," Grissom said. He was also puzzled by the dog's absence. "He's probably upstairs with Sara."_

"_Can Hank catch the flu from Mom?"_

"_I don't think so."_

"_Good. I don't want him to be sick, too."_

…_And if that looking glass gets broke, Mama's going to buy you a billy goat…._

_Grissom examined the box. Connor was right; there wasn't a return address._

"_Open it," Connor urged him. "See what Mom got you."_

_Grissom fished the scissors out of the kitchen junk drawer and cut through the mailing tape that sealed the box shut. As Grissom opened the top of the box, the music inside got louder._

…_And if that billy goat won't pull, Mama's going to buy you a cart and bull…._

"_I told you it was playing music," Connor said. "That's that song Mom's sings to Ava."_

"_Yes, it is."_

_When Grissom peered into the box and saw what was inside, he nearly stopped breathing._

"_What is it?" Connor asked._

_Grissom quickly closed the flaps. "It's nothing," he told his son._

"_I want to see."_

"_You can't."_

"_Why not?"_

"_You just can't," Grissom answered, as he picked up the phone. He put the phone to his ear and found there was no dial tone._

…_And if that cart and bull turn over, Mama's going to buy you a dog named Rover…._

_Grissom put the phone back down and looked at his son. "Connor, I need you to go next door to Mrs. O'Donnell's and call your Uncle Jim for me."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because I said so, Connor. I need you to tell him to get here as fast as he can."_

"_But, Dad…"_

"_No buts, son. Just do it, and hurry."_

_As Connor ran out the front door, Grissom unholstered his gun and started for the stairs._

…_And if that dog named Rover won't bark, Mama's going to buy you a horse and cart…._

_Grissom took the stairs slowly, his gun poised for a possible ambush, his heart beating so loudly in his ears that it drowned out the sound of his own footsteps._

"_Sara," he called out, as he ascended the last few steps. When Sara didn't answer him, Grissom tried calling his dog. "Hank, come here, boy," Grissom ordered. Hank, like Sara, failed to respond._

_Grissom walked down the hall towards his daughter's nursery. He knew he should wait for Jim, but he couldn't. He had to know if what he'd seen in the box was real. With a shaking hand, Grissom reached for the door knob._

…_And if that horse and cart fall down, you'll still be the sweetest little baby in town…._

_Grissom turned the knob and opened the door to find Sara sitting in the rocking chair next to Ava's crib. She held Ava in her arms, and Hank was laying at her feet. Grissom saw that all three had their eyes closed. No one stirred as Grissom entered the room. _

"_Please let them be asleep," Grissom whispered. "Please just let them be asleep."_

_As he walked towards Sara, Grissom saw the bruising around his wife's neck. He didn't have to feel for her pulse to know what he had seen in the box had come true. They weren't sleeping. They were gone. Natalie had completed her miniature._

_Grissom looked down at his wife and said, "I'm sorry, Sara. I'm so sorry."_

"Gil."

"Hmm," Grissom answered, opening his eyes. He saw Sara sitting across from him on the sofa, very much alive and breathing.

"You were talking in your sleep."

Grissom sat up in the chair and tightened his hold on Ava, who had fallen asleep against his chest. "I was having a dream."

"It sounded like a bad one."

"It was. How long have you been sitting there?"

"Awhile. I couldn't sleep."

"You should have woken me up."

"Just because I couldn't sleep doesn't mean you shouldn't. Besides, the two of you looked pretty comfortable. I didn't want to disturb you."

Grissom looked down at Ava. "I was reading her a book."

"I see that," Sara answered, pointing at the book in Grissom's lap. "Field Guide to Insects and Spiders and Related Species of North America. Interesting choice."

"I thought she would like the pictures."

"Did she?"

"I'm not sure. She fell asleep. I guess we both did."

Sara got up from the sofa and walked over to Grissom and Ava. "I should probably put her in her crib."

Grissom looked up at Sara. "I wasn't going to drop her," he told her.

"I know," Sara said, as she picked up Ava. "I just figured you've probably lost all feeling in your arm by now."

Grissom shook the arm that he had been holding Ava with. Sara was right; it was asleep. "Yeah, I guess I have. I should probably get a shower anyway. It's been a long day."

"That it has."

Sara started to walk towards the stairs with Ava, but Grissom stopped her. "Sara," he implored.

"Hmm," Sara said, turning towards him.

"Have you made a choice yet?"

Sara turned away from him. "No, not yet," she answered.

"Okay," Grissom said, although for him it was anything but.

* * *

Sara stood outside the bathroom door, listening to the water run inside. She knew she had to make a choice. She thought she had already made it last week when she had gotten in her car and driven back to Vegas, but then she had woken up this morning and found out that everything had changed. Or has it, Sara asked herself.

After Grissom had taken Ava downstairs, she had tried to sleep, but her mind wouldn't let her. She kept replaying the day's events in her head--the panic attack, the kidnapping accusations, her admissions of guilt, the fight, Connor's pleas to stay, Grissom's apologies and promises of fidelity. It wasn't exactly the fairytale ending she had hoped for. The handsome prince had finally found her, but instead of being grateful for that fact and embracing the prince, she had pushed him away. Sara wondered what Dr. Young would say about her behavior. Would she say that it was just another manifestation of her post traumatic stress or would she insinuate that it was a small part of a much bigger issue? Sara guessed it was the latter. She hadn't been entirely joking when she told Nick she had abandonment issues.

After much tossing and turning, Sara had finally given up on sleep and gone downstairs, only to find that graciously slumber had not eluded her husband and daughter. Grissom and Ava were in the arm chair. Ava was asleep in her father's arms, her head resting comfortably in the nook of Grissom's neck, one hand gripping the collar of his Hawaiian shirt instead of her blankie. Grissom's own head had fallen forward in sleep, touching Ava's and causing his reading glasses to perilously slide down to the tip of his nose. An entomology book laid open in his lap.

Sara had stood there for a moment, taking it all in. She had then quietly retrieved her cell phone and taken a picture of Ava and Grissom to commemorate the moment. Afterwards, she had sat on the sofa and just watched them sleep. She could have sat there all night watching them if Grissom hadn't woken up. She had always thought that Grissom would be awkward with kids. That's why she hadn't been surprised when Connor had told her that Ava's diaper had fallen off after Grissom had put it on. But in sleep, the bumbling novelty of fatherhood had fallen aside and been replaced by an almost graceful naturalness with children. The more Sara watched them, the more she became convinced that maybe this was meant to be. Maybe Grissom was meant to be a father. Maybe he was meant to be their father. Maybe everything really was going to be okay.

There was only one way to find out. Sara walked into the bathroom and slowly took off her clothes. She knew what she had to do. She took a deep breath and opened the shower door.

"Sara, what are you doing?" Grissom asked, as Sara stepped into the shower and shut the shower door behind her.

"I'm choosing."


	61. Chapter 61

"Are you okay?" Grissom asked Sara. She was laying next to him in bed, her head resting on his shoulder, one arm and one leg draped across his body. He had been surprised when Sara had opened the shower door and stepped inside, but when she had said that she was choosing, he had realized that she was baring more than just her body to him; she was baring her soul.

At first, Grissom had just stood there and let her put her arms around him. He had been scared to move or say anything; he didn't want Sara to misinterpret his words and actions again. He didn't want her to run, but as the water fell over them, he had heard her start to cry, and he knew that he had to do something. He had seen Sara cry more in the last few hours than he had in the ten years that he had known her. Despite everything that had happened between them, despite everything that they had done, he couldn't stand to see her cry. It was breaking his heart. He had finally taken Sara's face in his hands and made her look at him. "I love you," he had told her, and then he had kissed her. She had kissed him back, hesitantly at first, then with a feverish intensity that had surprised him almost as much as her opening the door.

They had eventually made their way from the shower to the bedroom. Now they were just waiting for the clock to say it was time to get up and take Connor to school.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sara answered him.

Grissom, who had just felt Sara shudder, wasn't convinced. "You're shaking," he told her.

"I'm just a little cold, that's all."

Grissom pulled the comforter up over her. "Is that better?" he asked.

"A little."

"The wet sheets probably aren't helping any."

"Yeah, I guess we probably should have dried off first."

"Probably. Does this mean you're staying?"

"If you still want me to."

"Of course, I still want you to. I thought I just proved that."

Sara pulled away from him and propped herself up on her elbows. "Tell me the truth," she told him. "Don't tell me what you think I want to hear or what you think is the right thing to say. Just tell me how you really feel. Do you want children?"

Grissom sighed. They were back to that again. "Yes, I want Connor and Ava."

"No. I don't want to know if you want our children. I want to know if you want children in general."

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes. Connor and Ava are here now. We can't deny it. We can't change it. We just have to deal with it and move on. What I want to know is what if they weren't here? Would you want to have children? More importantly, would you want to have children with me?"

"Sara, I don't understand why you keep asking me this."

"Because I never asked you before. We never discussed having children, not once. Maybe that's because I was scared to raise the subject. Maybe I was scared of what your answer would be, but maybe it's also because you knew that you didn't want them. Maybe that's why you never raised the subject either."

"It wasn't that."

"Then what was it?"

"I just never let myself think about it. You get to a certain point in your life--you get to a certain age--when you look at the people around you and you realize that they all have someone--a wife, kids, a dog, whatever--to come home to at night. Then you take a long look at yourself, and you realize that you don't have anyone. You just have an empty house and a shelf full of books to keep you company. For awhile, you hold out hope that you're going to end up like everyone else, that the wife and the kids and the dog are just waiting for you around the corner. But eventually, you just turn one too many empty corners to keep on believing that the next one will be different. I guess I stopped thinking about those things because it was easier and less painful than constantly being disappointed."

"But you weren't alone. I was waiting for you on that corner; you just kept walking right on by."

"I know, and I'm sorry for that."

"But what about afterwards? Why did you never raise the subject after we got together?"

"I don't know. I guess I just assumed that with your past you didn't want kids. You never said anything about it, and you always seemed so awkward around them. I guess I thought if I raised the issue and it wasn't something that you wanted, it would give you a reason to leave, and I didn't want that, so I just didn't say anything."

"And then I left anyway."

"I know. In retrospect, I guess I should have said something sooner."

"Okay. Here's another question, and again answer truthfully. Don't say what you think I want you to say or what you think is the right thing to say. Just say what you feel. Do you want me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because I love you."

"But I lied to you. I hid the fact that you had a son for nearly ten years. I left you with nothing but a Dear John letter to remember me by. I'm a complete basket case. Why would you want me back?"

"The answer is still the same. Because I love you."

"But why aren't you more mad? You should be yelling at me, not making love to me."

"What's yelling going to accomplish? It's just going to scare the kids. It's just going to scare you."

"I can handle it."

"Can you?"

"Despite what this morning may have looked like, I'm not going to break. If you want to yell, yell."

"I don't want to yell."

"I don't believe you."

"Look, Sara. We've both done things we're not proud of. We can't take them back. We can't change them. We can only move forward. I'd much rather do that by doing what we've been doing for the last hour. It's a lot more enjoyable than yelling."

"True, but…"

"No buts, Sara. I love you. I want you back. I want children. I want our children. End of story."

"I wish it could be that simple."

"It can be."

"No, it can't. Nothing in life is ever that simple."

"Then maybe complicated isn't so bad."

"Maybe."

"We're going to be okay, Sara. You, me, the kids, we're all going to be okay. You just have to start believing it."

"I'm trying. It's just hard sometimes."

"Trust me. I know. I've spent the last 10 months walking around in an alcohol-induced haze trying to forget just how hard it can be."

"So why aren't you doing that now? There's plenty of alcohol downstairs. Drinking is also more enjoyable than yelling."

"It is until you wake up with a hangover and no memory of what you did the night before."

"Is that what happened with Heather?"

"Mostly, but I don't blame the alcohol."

"You blame me."

"No, I blame me. You should, too."

Sara turned over in response. She didn't want to think about Heather anymore or her own part in that night.

"Sara, you did not make me do what I did that night. Regrettably, I did it on my own free will. You've got to stop blaming yourself for my infidelity and for everything else that has ever gone wrong in your life."

"Don't blame yourself? That's easy for you to say. You don't destroy everything you touch."

"And neither do you." Sara remained silent. "Sara, look at me." Sara didn't move. Grissom tried again, "Sara, please." Sara rolled onto her back and looked at him. "If you destroy everything you touch, then why am I still here? Why are the kids still down the hall?"

"I don't know. Maybe because you're all gluttons for punishment."

"No, because we love you, and we know that you're not that person that you think you are."

"That's what everyone keeps saying, but how can any of you know that when I don't even know it?"

"We just do. A wise man once said that sometimes things are right in front of us, and we just don't see them until someone points them out."

"Let me guess. The wise man was either Shakespeare or Thoreau."

"No. Jim Brass."

"Oh."

"He was trying to explain to me why he wasn't surprised when Nick told him about Connor. What he said made a lot of sense. It still does."

"Did he give you any other wise words of advice?"

"No, but your friend Cameron did. She told me that what's really important here isn't your anger or my anger or who's right and who's wrong. What's important is that the four of us are a family, and we shouldn't lose sight of that fact."

"Cammie said that?" Grissom nodded. "Wow. Well, she also calls you McBuggy, so I wouldn't listen to everything she has to say on the subject of us."

"I know. I heard. I don't get it, but I heard."

"McBuggy. It's kind of like McDreamy or McSteamy, only tailored for an entomologist."

"What's a McDreamy or a McSteamy? Some kind of vacuum?"

"No, not quite. They're nothing, really. Don't worry about it. It'll take too long to explain. Let's just say they're nicknames and leave it at that."

"Oh. Okay. The McBuggy thing aside, I think Cameron had a valid point."

"Don't let the blonde hair fool you. She does have one from time to time."

"That's another reason I'm not yelling. I'm trying to take her advice."

"Remind to thank her later."

"I'm serious, Sara."

"So am I. It looks like Cameron came through for me yet again without asking for anything in return."

"I take it the two of you are close."

"Yeah. I know. She doesn't seem like the type of person I'd be friends with, but I don't know where I'd be right now if it wasn't for her and Ritchie. Not here, that's for sure."

"Then remind me to thank her, too."

"I will," Sara said, as another chill caused her body to shiver.

"Are you still cold?" Grissom asked her.

"A little."

"Do you want me to warm you up?"

"Well, it is more enjoyable than yelling."


	62. Chapter 62

"Connor, wake up," Sara said, as she turned on the lamp next to her son's bed and sat down next to him on the bottom bunk.

"Nuh-uh," Connor answered, pulling the covers over his head.

"Connor," Sara reiterated, pulling the covers back down. "You have to get up."

"I don't wanna," he whined in response.

"You have school."

"So?" Connor asked, before turning over and burying his head in the pillow.

"So you have to go. It's the law."

"Then let them send me to jail."

"They won't send you to jail. They'll send me and your father. Do you want us to go to jail?"

"No," Connor answered, reluctantly turning back over.

"Then get up and get dressed. Your father is making pancakes."

"Can he cook?"

"Better than me."

"That doesn't take much."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

"And I'm going to pretend you don't burn my toast."

"Connor Gilbert Grissom," Sara said sternly.

"I'm sorry. You make really good toast. I swear."

"Uh-huh."

"Really, Mom. I can't even taste the burnt parts once you put jelly on it."

"Well, who's going to burn your toast when I'm in jail?"

"Uncle Ritchie and Aunt Cam?"

"Connor."

"No one because I'm getting up and getting dressed.'

"You've got that right."

"Fine. Fine. I'm getting up," Connor said, as he finally got out of the bed.

"And brush your teeth and hair."

"I know. I know."

Sara shook her head as she left Connor and went downstairs. She realized it was quite possible that Connor was more hard-headed than her. If her mother were here, she would probably tell Sara that Connor was the prime example of what goes around, comes around. Sara remembered that there had been quite a few mornings when she was Connor's age that she had done the same thing to Laura. She didn't want to think about what Connor's hard-headedness meant for his teenage years.

Sara walked into the kitchen and saw Grissom standing at the stove, monitoring the progress of his pancakes, a spatula in one hand, an oven mitt in the other. He turned to look at her and asked, "Is he up?"

"Finally," Sara answered him, leaning against the bar.

"I take it he's not a morning person."

"No, he is on weekends. Weekdays…not so much. I swear, it's like waking the dead Monday through Friday."

"Last night's fight probably didn't help."

"No, I'm sure it didn't. Hopefully, he won't fall asleep in class. It wouldn't be the best way to make a first impression."

"Maybe the pancakes will wake him up. He does like pancakes, doesn't he?"

"Yes, just not mine."

"Why's that?"

"Apparently, I'm a lousy cook." Grissom said nothing in response, a fact Sara took note of. "This would be the part where you say, 'That's ridiculous, honey. You're a wonderful cook.'"

"That's ridiculous, honey. You're a wonderful cook," Grissom mimicked.

"Wow. Well, at least now I know where Connor gets it from."

"Gets what?"

"The bad liar gene. I don't believe you anymore than I believed him when he said that he likes my burnt toast. At least Ava doesn't mind my cooking, do you, baby?" Sara asked her daughter, as she gave Ava a quick peck on her head. Ava banged her rattle on the high chair in response.

"That's only because you can't burn breast milk."

"Funny." Sara walked over to the counter and picked up the pot of coffee. "I'm going to need another cup of coffee if it's going to be Beat Up on Sara Day."

"It's that day already? I didn't think it was until next week. I didn't even get you a card."

"Okay, now you're starting to scare me with the jokes."

"Sorry. I spent one too many hours locked in a car with Jim yesterday. I guess he started to rub off on me."

"I guess so." Sara looked over at the stairs when she heard Connor stomping down them. "Here comes Sunshine."

"You know, I've heard people say the same thing about you," Grissom told Sara. Sara turned and glared at him in response. Grissom pointed at the pan and stuttered, "I, uh, I'm just going to cook."

"You do that," Sara said sharply.

Connor walked into the kitchen, climbed onto one of the bar stools, and crossed his arms in front of him. "I'm dressed," he proclaimed.

"I see that," Sara responded.

Connor stuck his bottom lip out in a pout and sighed loudly.

"What's wrong?" Grissom asked him.

"Nothing," Connor mumbled. Grissom looked at Sara, and she shrugged in response. Connor then spoke up. "I just don't know why I have to go to school today if we're going to move. I'm just going to have to switch schools tomorrow. Why bother?"

"You didn't tell him?" Grissom asked Sara.

"Tell me what?" Connor asked.

"That you're not moving," Grissom answered his son.

"No, I haven't had the chance," Sara said.

"So what does that mean, you're moving?" Connor asked Grissom.

"No, I'm staying, too."

"Until you find somewhere else to live," Connor mumbled.

"No, I'm not looking for another place to live."

"Then until we find somewhere else to live."

Sara put down her coffee cup and walked over to Connor. "Look, Connor, I'm sorry you heard us arguing last night. If I could go back and change things so that you didn't hear any of that, I would."

"So?" Connor asked sarcastically.

"So I don't want to leave, Connor. I know it seemed that way last night, but I was angry and upset and scared, and my first instinct was to run away instead of dealing with the things that were making me feel that way. Does that make any sense?"

"I guess."

"But running away is never the answer. You know that, right?"

"Yes. That's what you told me when Aunt Cam told you I was going to run away to find you."

"I know. I remember. Sometimes I'm just not that great at following my own advice, and I'm sorry for that."

Connor gave Sara a hug. "And I'm sorry for what I said about your cooking. It's not that bad."

Sara hugged her son back. "Yes, it is."

Connor pulled back and shrugged. "So we're really staying?" he asked Sara.

"Yes, we're really staying," Sara answered.

"Yea!" Connor exclaimed.

Sara looked over at Grissom and smiled. "Yea."


	63. Chapter 63

Sara was in the bathroom, towel drying her hair after taking her second shower of the day. She hadn't taken the time to bathe or wash her hair during the first shower, so she figured it was probably a good idea to take a second one. After taking Connor to his new school, she and Grissom had come home and slept. It had been the first time in a long time that she had slept for more than three hours straight, the first time in a long time that she hadn't woken up in a cold sweat from another nightmare. She still wouldn't call herself well-rested. The circles under her eyes were a testament to that, but at least it was a start. She guessed she had Grissom to thank for that. Maybe with him lying beside her, she finally felt safe enough to sleep.

Sara put down the towel and grabbed her clothes off the hook on the back of the bathroom door. They were new, part of her Cammie-inspired makeover wardrobe. They were pretty, more feminine than she was used to, but they weren't exactly blood and guts friendly. Sara knew that she would have to change before she went to work, but in the meantime she figured that she would wear them. She had, after all, bought them for Grissom, and there was no use leaving them in the closet now that he was home.

As Sara slipped on her blouse, self-doubt took hold of her and threatened to ruin her otherwise good mood.

_New clothes aren't going to make a difference, you know._

"No, I don't know."

_They don't change who you are. They don't change what you did. They don't change what he did._

"I never said they did."

_Gil's not even going to notice them. He barely notices you._

"He noticed me this morning."

_You don't actually think that meant something to him, do you?_

"Yes."

_Aw, poor Sara. Still so delusional. You threw yourself at him while he was taking a shower. What did you expect him to do, say no?_

"He could have. I wasn't holding a gun to his head."

_No, but you're a woman. He's a man. You were both naked. He probably hasn't gotten any in awhile. It was just sex. No more. No less._

"If you say so."

_I know so, and so do you. He's just biding his time until something better comes along, and you know who that something better is_.

"He said it was over."

_For now. It doesn't mean it can't begin again._

"He promised me that she was out of his life."

_He did. She didn't. He also promised to forsake all others on your wedding day. We know how well that promise turned out._

"He also said that he loved me."

_Sara, Sara, Sara. Haven't we been through this before? Mid-and post-coital declarations of love don't count. Did Gil say that he loved you when he got here yesterday morning?_

"No."

_How about during your panic attack?_

"Not that I remember."

_How about last night when the two of you talked?_

"No."

_And after your fight?_

"No."

_So it was just this morning in the shower and in bed?_

"Yes."

_Like I said, it didn't count. I bet you thought that that image of him and Ava asleep in the arm chair was really touching._

"Yes, I did."

_Sara, he didn't even care about his daughter enough to make sure she made it safely into her crib before he fell asleep._

"He had a long day. It was an accident. I'm sure he didn't mean to."

_He could have dropped her._

"But he didn't."

_And what about that little trip to McDonald's yesterday? He bought Connor chicken nuggets._

"So? I chose to be a vegetarian. They didn't"

_But he knew it would upset you, and he did it anyway. I bet that note didn't just magically blow under the bed either. I bet he put it there on purpose._

"Why would he do that?"

_To scare you. Apparently, it worked._

"That was my own fault. I over-thought the situation."

_No, you recognized the truth, and now you're trying to talk yourself out of it._

"The only one who's trying to talk me out of anything is you."

_But I'm you, and you're me, Sara. Maybe it's time you started listening to what I had to say._

"Or maybe it's time I told you to shut up."

Sara stopped talking to herself when she heard a knock on the door. She buttoned her pants, slipped on her sandals, and opened the door. Grissom was standing on the other side, holding Ava, a concerned look on his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

"Yes," Sara answered, as she turned off the bathroom light. "Why?"

"I thought I heard you talking to someone."

"No. I was just singing. I have this stupid song stuck in my head, and I thought that singing might finally get it out."

"Oh," Grissom said.

Sara didn't think he believed her, so she took his hand and smiled. "Really, I'm fine. Let's go get our son."

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay?" Grissom asked her again in the car. They were sitting in a long line of cars at the elementary school, waiting for Connor. Grissom had noticed that something seemed off about Sara. Before the shower, she had been in a good mood. She had been smiling. She had even laughed at a few of his bad jokes, but when she came out of the bathroom, it had been obvious to him that something had changed. Her smiled now seemed forced, and her laughter had been replaced by extended periods of silence. What exactly happened in that bathroom, Grissom asked himself.

"Yes, I'm sure," she told him.

"You just seem…I don't know…sad."

"I'm not. I'm just tired."

"Did you not sleep well?"

"No, I did for once. I guess one good morning of sleep doesn't make up for all the bad ones."

"Do you want me to drop you off at home before I stop by the lab? I can take the kids with me so you can take a nap."

"No, I'll be fine. It shouldn't take more than a few minutes for you to pick up your mail and messages. It's not even worth the waste of gas to go to the house and back."

"If you're sure."

"I am, but thanks for offering."

"You're welcome." Grissom watched his wife stare out the window. He didn't think her mood was due entirely to her exhaustion, but he wasn't going to push it. Finally, he asked, "Your clothes, are they new?"

"Yes," Sara said, as she looked down at her shirt and smoothed out the wrinkles that her seatbelt had left in the material. "Cammie thought my wardrobe needed a little updating."

"They're pretty. You look very pretty in them."

"Thank you," Sara said, turning back to the window.

Grissom hesitantly reached out and touched Sara's cheek. She turned back to him and smiled. He thought about kissing her, but that thought ended when the car door opened.

"Ooh! You're not going to kiss her, are you?" Connor asked Grissom, as he got in the backseat.

Grissom lowered his hand and leaned back in his own seat. "No, I guess I'm not," he told Connor.

"Good because kissing's gross."

Sara finally laughed. "How was school?" she asked Connor.

"Fine."

"Did you like your teacher?"

"I did until she gave me homework," Connor answered, snapping his seatbelt in place.

"Well, you're going to have to do it before you can watch TV or play video games."

"I know. I know."

"We're going to stop by the lab first."

"Why?"

"I need to pick up a few things," Grissom told him.

"Oh. Will Mandy be there?"

"Probably not," Sara answered. "She probably won't be in until tonight."

"Aw. I wanted her to finish running my prints."

"Mandy was running his prints?" Grissom asked Sara.

"Like you said yesterday, he can be very persuasive."

"Did she get any hits?"

"No."

"Give me time," Connor said from the backset.

Sara laughed again.

* * *

Grissom opened his office door and was surprised to find that, unlike the day he returned from his last sabbatical, his desk was not buried in piles of paper. When he sat down in his chair and saw the picture of Lindsey on his desk, he realized why; Catherine had been using his office. He hoped that meant she had at least taken care of his messages. He hated to return calls. He hated to the sooth the egos of people who had been offended by the fact that he had not called them back in months. He hated the politics of it all. If Catherine wanted to take on that part of his job, she was more than welcomed to.

Grissom started to get up to look for the mail, but he sat down again when he realized he had a visitor.

"Gil," the visitor said.

"Conrad," Grissom answered.

"I heard you were in the building."

"You heard right."

"We need to talk."

Great, Grissom thought to himself. Just great.

* * *

"Mom, I really need to go!" Connor whined from the backseat.

Sara glanced back at him. "Why didn't you go at school?" she asked.

"Because I thought we were going home."

"Can't you hold it?"

"I have been holding it. Now I'm going to pee in my pants!"

Sara sighed and looked at her watch. Grissom should have been back by now. She didn't know what the hold up was, and apparently her son couldn't wait for her to find out. "Okay, just let me get your sister."

"Well, hurry!"

"I am."

* * *

"Conrad, now's really not a good time. Sara and the kids are in the car."

"Well, they're part of what we need to talk about. I take it from your presence here that you plan on coming back to graveyard."

"I was planning on it."

"Are you aware that your wife is also back on graveyard?"

"Yes."

"Did Sara tell you why that is?"

"No, but I'm guessing it's because that's the shift she wanted to be on."

"No, it's because that's the shift I allowed her to be on. Now ask me why I did that?"

"Why did you do that, Conrad?" Grissom asked, humoring his colleague.

"I did it because I was told to do it by the county attorney."

"Hmm. I didn't even know the county attorney knew Sara."

"He doesn't, but he knows a liability when he sees it."

"He thinks Sara's a liability?"

"No, he thinks you are."

"And what exactly did I do?"

"For starters, you slept with a subordinate."

"That's old news, Conrad. Sara switched shifts. I stopped being her supervisor. Problem solved."

"No, problem just begun. Do you realize that a good attorney could make that switch seem like a demotion?"

"I haven't actually thought about it. Why would I?"

"Why would you?" Ecklie asked, as he shook his head. "Gil, Sara could sue you, this lab, and Clark County for sexual harassment."

"That's absurd."

"The county attorney doesn't think so. In fact, he thinks Sara has a pretty good case."

"He thinks I harassed Sara?"

"It doesn't matter what he thinks. It only matters what a jury thinks."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't know, Gil. Every time I think I have you and Sara figured out, one of you drops another bomb at my feet."

"Like what?"

"Like the long-lost son I'm just now hearing about."

"Don't feel bad. I'm just now hearing about him, too."

"Do you expect me to believe that Sara never told you that you a had a son?"

"Conrad, I can honestly say that I stopped expecting anything of you a long time ago."

"Gil, I'm serious."

"So am I. Look, none of this matters anyway. Sara's not going to sue anyone."

"Did she tell you that?"

"No."

"Then you and I have to make sure we're on the same page."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I make sure Sara stays happy at work, and you make sure Sara stays happy at home."

"I always do."

"Really? Because that's not what I heard."

"And what exactly did you hear, Conrad?"

"How about the name Lady Hea--"

"Dad, what's taking you so long?" Connor asked Grissom, as he ran into the office and cut off Ecklie's response to his father's question. Sara followed behind him with Ava and the diaper bag.

"I had a visitor," Grissom answered, pointing at Ecklie.

"Who are you?" Connor asked Ecklie.

Ecklie extended his hand to Connor. "I'm Conrad Ecklie. I'm Gil's boss."

Connor shook his hand. "I'm Connor Grissom. I'm Gil's son."

Grissom stifled a laugh, as Sara apologized. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to interrupt. Connor just had to go to the bathroom."

"Mom!" Connor exclaimed, embarrassed by his mother's revelation.

"Well, you did."

"Can we go now?" Connor asked Grissom. "Mom says I can't play until I do my homework, and I can't do my homework if we're here."

"I don't know, Connor. You'll have to ask Conrad. He's the one who thought it was a good time to talk."

"Can we, Mr. Ecklie? Please, please, please. I really want to play. I'm this close to finishing all the levels on Jimmy Neutron. Please!" Connor pleaded.

"I…uh…my God, what is that smell?" Ecklie asked, too distracted by the stench that had filled the room to answer Connor.

"Sorry. It seems Connor wasn't the only one who needed to go to the bathroom," Sara answered.

"That's coming from you?" Ecklie asked.

"No," Sara answered incredulously. "From my daughter. I guess I'll go change her in the locker room. There's not a changing table in the bathroom."

"No, don't. You can change her in here. Conrad was just leaving, weren't you, Conrad?"

Ecklie looked over at Ava, as he held one hand over his nose and mouth. He decided that the smell was bad enough with the diaper on; he didn't even want to know how bad it was going to be with the diaper off. "Yes, I was," he told the Grissoms.

As soon as Ecklie left his office, Grissom told his daughter, "Good girl, Ava. Good girl."

* * *

"So what were the two of you talking about?" Sara asked Grissom. After Connor had finished his homework, he had changed his mind about playing the video game and had decided to ride his bike instead. Sara and Grissom were now following him around the block. Grissom walked Hank, while Sara pushed Ava's stroller.

"Nothing important," Grissom responded.

"It seemed pretty important when we walked in there."

"You know Conrad. He thinks everything is important."

"Gil," Sara implored. She knew he was trying to deflect her from the truth.

"We were talking about you."

"Oh."

"He seems to think you might sue the county."

"I know. Catherine told me."

"Are you going to?"

"Of course not."

"Are you going to sue me?"

"No. I can't believe that you would even ask me that."

"I'm sorry. Conrad was just so adamant, I thought I'd ask."

"Well, I'm not." They continued to walk in silence for a few minutes, then Sara added, "I hate that that's the way people see us."

"I wouldn't let it worry you too much."

"Don't you care if everyone sees you as a harasser?"

"I'm sure I've been called a lot worse. Besides, it's not everyone. It's just Conrad and the county attorney. They're not exactly my favorite people either."

"Well, I'm sick of everyone seeing me as a victim. I'm sick of being That Girl."

"Sara, I don't see you as a victim. I see you as a survivor."

"Same difference."

"No, it's not."

Sara shrugged. She disagreed with her husband, but she was too tired to argue. She had to go work soon, which meant she also had to deal with the aftermath of Saturday morning's revelation. She didn't think she had the energy to do that either, but she didn't really have a choice. At least I have Nick and Greg on my side, Sara thought to herself, unless, of course, they've changed their minds about me since Saturday. Given her little meltdown the day before, Sara wouldn't be surprised if they had both woken up this morning and decided to wash their hands of her before she accused them of felonies, too.

"Are you going in tonight?" she asked Grissom.

"I might as well, unless you need me to stay with the kids."

"No, Rachel is supposed to come."

"I take it Rachel's the babysitter."

"Yeah, she is. Ecklie isn't going to let me report to you."

"I know. I didn't expect him to. I take it he wants you to report to Catherine."

"The last I heard. At least he's not making me go back to swing."

"You should have never gone there to begin with. I should have."

"No. You were where you belonged. The team needed you; they didn't need me."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. They'll be happy you're back. I got balloons. You'll probably get an entire marching band."

"I doubt it."

"Yeah, well, I don't. Hodges has probably already organized a parade in your honor and arranged for the mayor to give you a key to the city."

"Right, Hodges. I had almost forgotten about him."

"Well, he hasn't forgotten about you. You're his hero, Gil Grissom, and I'm just the slut you made the mistake of marrying."

"Did he say that to you?"

"More or less. You should probably know that he's going to tell you that Nick and I spent the night together."

"Why would he say that?"

"Because we did, just not in the way Hodges thinks. When I had that first panic attack, Nick was the only person I'd let Brass call. I figured he'd understand what I was going through."

"Did he?"

"Yeah, he did. Apparently, Nick was a lot more messed up after his own kidnapping than any of us knew. He stayed and took care of me and Ava, and, yes, technically, he slept here but on the sofa, not in my bed. When Hodges saw us drive in together that night and Nick was wearing the same clothes he was wearing the night before, Hodges mind went straight to the gutter. He told anyone who would listen that we were sleeping together."

"And people actually believed him?"

"Greg did, at least until I told him about the panic attack."

"And everyone else?"

"Let's just say that Nick's the leading contender in the Who's Your Baby's Daddy Pool and leave it at that."

"So there really is a pool?"

"Did you think that I was making it up?"

"I don't know. You were so mad, I wasn't sure."

"Well, I wasn't. There really is a pool."

"I'm sorry. I should have reigned Hodges in a long time ago instead of just ignoring him."

"It's not your fault. Hodges is who he is. I don't even think you can reign him in. For what it's worth, Nick and I, we've never…"

"I know."

"I mean, we flirt a lot, but it's never gone that far."

"I believe you."

"I've never slept with Greg or Warrick either."

"I know."

"But Hodges doesn't, and he's going to do his best to convince you otherwise."

"I'm prepared for that."

"He's also going to tell you about a calendar I posed for while I was in L.A."

"I already know about that."

"You do?"

"Michael Barrett bought me a copy."

"Oh."

"Did you really work at the Kit Kat Bar?"

"Yes, I really did."

"It doesn't seem like you."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. Cammie got me the job."

"So you actually got on top of a bar and…"

"And what, Gil? Shook my ass? Yes, I did that." Grissom didn't say anything in response. Sara, noticing that Connor was riding his bicycle with no hands, yelled, "Hey, both hands on the handle bars!" Connor obligingly put his hands back on the bike. Sara then turned to Grissom, who was still silent. "Don't tell me you have a problem with that. Heather beats people for a living, and you're perfectly okay with that, but I dance on a bar top for a few months to pay our daughter's hospital bills, and that you're going to take exception to."

"Heather's not my wife."

"No, she's just your mistress."

Grissom sighed. "Are we really going to go there again?"

"No, we're not because I'm not going to have this discussion within earshot of my son."

Sara started walking faster, pushing the stroller ahead of Grissom. Grissom and Hank attempted to catch up. "Sara, wait!" he called after her. Sara stopped, but she did not turn around to look at him. "Look, I don't have a problem with you working there. It just surprised me, that's all. I don't know. Maybe I'm a little jealous, too. I imagine you had a lot of men hitting on you."

"Yeah, I did, but you have nothing to worry about. They were all too drunk to realize what I really look like. If they had been sober, they would have taken one look at me and run screaming in the other direction."

"Sara, that's not true, and you know it."

"You're right. They probably would have just gone blind on the spot."

"Why are you saying these things?"

"Because it's how I feel. Because it's how you make me feel."

"But this morning…"

"This morning was nice. Don't get me wrong. I enjoyed it, but it doesn't change how I feel when I look in the mirror and realize that you chose some brunette Barbie doll over me."

"I didn't choose Heather."

"So you keep saying, but the truth of the matter is you did. You could have gone to California that night and looked for me, but you didn't. You chose to stay at home. You chose to open the door, and you chose to let Heather in. Heather with her perfect body and her perfect hair and her perfect teeth, not me with all my imperfections. How do you expect me to feel anything but ugly in comparison?"

"Sara, you're beautiful. I have thought that from the moment we first met."

"I wish I could believe you."

"You can." Grissom tried to reach for Sara with his free hand, but she pulled away. Before he could say anything else, Connor called for them from up the street.

"Hey, Mom, are you coming?" Connor asked.

"We're coming," Sara told her son. She looked at Grissom and said, "I guess we should go."

"Yeah, I guess we should."


	64. Chapter 64

"Sara, I don't know how to fix this," Grissom said, as they sat in his car outside the lab.

Sara wouldn't look at him. She had hardly looked at him at all since they had returned from Connor's bike ride. He had tried to talk to her then, but she wouldn't let him. She had told him that she didn't have time to talk because she needed to fix dinner. When he had offered his assistance, Sara had retorted, "Despite what you and Connor might think, I am perfectly capable of fixing dinner." Grissom had thrown up his hands and retreated to the safety of the living room, where he had watched some show on the Disney Channel about twin boys who lived in a hotel with his son.

After dinner when Connor was in the shower, Grissom had tried again, but Sara had claimed that she was still too busy to talk. She had to feed Ava, do laundry, get Connor to bed, change clothes, brush her teeth--basically, do anything but talk to him. She had at least agreed to ride with him to the lab. "I might as well. I'm getting low on gas," she had explained. They had rode to the lab in silence, a silence he was now trying to break.

"I don't know what you want me to do or say to convince you that you're the one I want to be with," he continued.

"Neither do I," Sara answered, as she stared out the side window.

"I'm trying to figure it out. I really am, but until that happens, all I can do is tell you that you're beautiful, that I love you, and that I want to be with you, and hope that you eventually start believing me."

Sara finally turned to look at him. "But is that what you feel, or is that just what you think I want to hear? Because if what you really feel is that she's more beautiful, that you love her more, that you want to be with her but you can't because you feel responsible for me and the kids, then I don't want you to say it."

"Sara…"

"No, don't. Okay? I don't want you to give me some knee-jerk reaction to what I just said. I'd rather you think about it before you say something else that you don't mean."

"But I meant it."

"Did you?" Sara asked, unbuckling her seat belt. She opened the door and told him, "I'm going to go on in. I'll see you inside."

"Okay." As he watched Sara walk into the building, Grissom said to himself, "You're beautiful. I love you. I want to be with you," but Sara was too far gone to hear him.

* * *

Why do I keep messing everything up, Sara asked herself, as she walked down the hall towards the locker room. Things were going great, and then I had to open my big, fat mouth and blow it all to hell. Why can't I just allow myself to be happy? Why can't I believe him when he says he loves me and wants to be with me?

Sara thought she knew why. People had been telling her those things her entire life, and they never meant them. Her parents had told her that they loved her and wanted to be with her, but then her father had died and her mother had gone to prison, leaving her and Ritchie all alone. Ritchie had then taken over and told her pretty much the same thing, but then he had left her, too. Then there was Michael and his abusive take on love. As for Hank, he had never actually used those words with her, but for awhile, Sara had actually allowed herself to think that he might say them. Of course, she had then found out that she was the other woman in their relationship, and he wouldn't be saying them at all. In her mind, it only stood to reason that Grissom and his proclamations of love would follow suit.

She had, however, made a choice that morning, and she intended to stick by that choice, if for no other reason than she had promised her children that she would. She just didn't want to hold Grissom to his choice if he had rather made another.

Sara walked into the locker room and was surprised to see Ronnie standing there.

"Sara, hi," Ronnie greeted her.

"Ronnie, hi," Sara said, plastering on a fake smile. She really wasn't in the mood for Ronnie's eternal perkiness. "Are you just getting off of shift?"

"No, I'm just getting here. I'm on nights now."

"Really?"

"Yeah, Catherine asked me to come on when Dr. Grissom left last May."

"Oh. No one told me."

"I was on vacation last week. They probably just forgot. Hey, maybe we can work some cases together again. It'll be like old times."

"Yeah, maybe," Sara said. She then thought, with my luck, it will be tonight.

"I've got to go see Wendy about some samples I collected this weekend. I'll see you later."

"Yeah, I'll see you."

Please just don't let it be too soon, Sara thought. I don't know if I can deal with Ronnie and Grissom, too. All I need now is--

"I'm surprised you're still here," a voice said behind her.

Sara cringed and turned around. "Hodges."

* * *

There wasn't a marching band, a parade of "helloes" and "welcome backs" maybe, but no marching band was waiting for him when he entered the lab. Grissom supposed it was all for the better. He'd never been one for high-stepping and banging drums, and he was too preoccupied with thinking about how to prove his loyalty to Sara to politely clap on cue.

When he got to his office, he found Catherine rummaging around his desk, throwing various items into a cardboard box. She looked up at Grissom as he walked into the room and said, "I know. I know. I should have done this last night, but I just didn't get a chance."

"Take your time," Grissom told her. "I'm not in a hurry."

"I can tell. I think this is the first time in--I don't know--ten years that I actually beat you to work."

"It's been a long day."

"Obviously. You look like hell."

"Gee, Catherine, I've missed you, too."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes, I guess I do. It's been a hell of a day."

"Are things that bad with Sara?"

"Yes and no. Mostly, it's just complicated."

"Welcome to married life. You left simple the minute you said, 'I do.' I'm surprised you're not sleeping here."

"The night's still young. I guess I should thank you for holding down the fort while I was gone."

"Well, someone had to do it. I didn't see any volunteers." Catherine picked up the photo of Lindsey and threw it the box. She then told Grissom, "It's all yours."

"Actually, it's not," Ecklie said from the doorway.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Catherine asked Ecklie.

Ecklie stepped aside, and two men carrying a desk entered the room. "It means I want you to gather all your field guys and meet me in the conference room in 10 minutes. It's time some things changed around here."

* * *

"Am I going to have to take a restraining order out against you?" Sara asked Hodges.

"Not if you switch shifts."

"I'm not switching shifts, Hodges. I'm staying right here. Deal with it."

"Ecklie isn't going to let you now that Grissom is back."

"Yes, he is."

"You don't actually expect me to believe that Ecklie is going to let you report to Grissom?"

"No, I don't. However, I do expect you to believe that he's going to let me report to Catherine."

"Oh," Hodges said, clearly disappointed by Sara's answer. "So why didn't he do that the first time around?"

"I don't know. Maybe because I volunteered to move first. Guess what, Hodges? I'm not volunteering anymore. If you have a problem with that, I'm sure Ecklie won't have a problem with you switching shifts or, better yet, switching labs all together."

Before Hodges could respond, Greg, Nick, and Warrick entered the locker room.

"I vote for the latter option," Greg said.

"Me, too," Nick added.

"So do I," Warrick said.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny," Hodges told the three men.

"I don't think they were joking, Hodges. I think they were being serious," Sara clarified.

"We were," Greg said.

"Whatever," Hodges responded. "You all know this lab couldn't operate without me."

"Hmm," Warrick said. "I seem to remember we were doing just fine before you transferred in."

"Yeah, those were the good old days, weren't they?" Nick asked.

"I know I miss them," Greg added.

"I'm sure Grissom will beg to differ," Hodges stated. "He values my contribution to this place."

"Does he now?" Greg asked. Hodges nodded in response. "Did he tell you that?"

"Not in so many words. He didn't have to. Such sentiments of respect are simply understood by men of our talent and caliber."

Sara, remembering her earlier conversation with Grissom in which he admitted that he simply ignored Hodges, started laughing.

"What's so funny?" Hodges asked her.

"Nothing. You just really like yourself."

"Yes. Yes, I do. The last time I checked, there was nothing wrong with that."

"It is when you assume that everyone else feels the same," Sara differentiated.

"I'm not assuming. I know. The boss and I, we're cut from the same cloth. We're like two peas in a pod. I look at him, and it's like I'm looking in the mirror." Sara laughed harder at Hodges's description of his relationship with her husband. Hodges, who was seemingly unnerved by her response, told her, "Laugh now, but you won't be laughing for long. Like I said, I get Grissom. I understand how he works. That's how I know that he'll be kicking you to the curb once he finds out everything you've done."

"Really?" Sara asked him, as she tried to contain her laughter. "I hate to disappoint you, Hodges, but that's not what he said this morning in the shower."

"And what did he say?" Hodges asked.

"Well, it wasn't so much what he said as what he did."

"And what exactly did he do?"

"Me," Sara answered. Pleased by the bright shade of red that Hodges's face had turned, Sara continued, "Quite a few times in fact. In the shower. In our bed. Once up against the dresser. You know, my therapist is always telling me that I need to be more open with my feelings and to talk to my friends more, and while you're not exactly my friend, I'd be more than glad to go into greater detail with you about what he did, if you want."

"That won't be necessary," Hodges responded.

"Are you sure? Because I don't mind. Or better yet, why don't you go ask my husband for details, since you're cut from the same cloth and all?"

"He can't," Warrick told Sara.

"And why's that?" Hodges asked, for the moment forgetting that details was the last thing he wanted to hear from Grissom.

"That's because Ecklie had ordered all of us into the conference room for a meeting."

"Well, I can just talk to him there."

"No, you can't."

"And why's that?"

"Because when I said 'all of us,' what I meant was all of us field guys. You're a techie. Your presence hasn't been requested. You can go back to your lab and wait for the meeting to be over."

"What if I don't want to go back to my lab?"

"Then I guess you can sit here all night. It's your choice, Hodges."

Hodges stood there for a minute, his arms crossed, his forehead wrinkled in contemplation. Finally, he said, "I guess I'll go back to my lab then. I can always talk to Grissom later."

"Good choice, Hodges," Nick told the lab technician. After Hodges left the locker room, Nick turned to Sara and asked, "You weren't planning on telling us the details of what you and Griss did this morning, are you?"

"No," Sara answered.

"Thank God."


	65. Chapter 65

"Two peas in a pod, huh? Must be a mighty big pod to fit both Hodges and his ego," Warrick commented, as he opened his locker and stuck his jacket inside. "I wouldn't think there'd be any room left for Grissom."

"Knowing Hodges, he'd make room," Nick said, opening his own locker. "I was surprised he didn't get here early and roll out the red carpet for Grissom."

"Don't give him any ideas. There's still time for a quick trip to the Home Depot."

"True. Very true. I guess I'll have to remember that trick the next time I want to get rid of Hodges. Talk about my sex life until he gets embarrassed and leaves."

"What sex life?" Warrick questioned.

"Funny."

"I take it that means things are going better between you and Grissom," Greg said to Sara, as he sat down beside her.

"Not really," Sara replied.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Greg asked.

"Not really," Sara answered. She looked at Warrick and asked, "Is there really a meeting, or did you just make that up for Hodges's sake?"

"No, unfortunately, there's a meeting. Ecklie cornered us on the way in the building" Warrick responded.

"I wonder what it's about?"

"Considering the timing, I can only guess it has something to do with Grissom's return."

"Great," Sara muttered. Maybe Hodges is right, Sara thought. Maybe Ecklie is going to make me change shifts.

Greg, thinking the same thing, said, "Hopefully, Ecklie's not going to use Grissom being back as an excuse to break us all up again."

"I wouldn't put it past him," Nick said.

"Neither would I," Warrick added. He shut his locker door and started towards the door. "There's only one way to find out."

"Warrick, wait," Sara told him. Warrick stopped and looked at Sara. "Can I, um, talk to you for a minute?" she asked.

"Yeah, sure," Warrick answered.

Seeing the nervous look on Sara's face, Nick realized what or whom Sara wanted to talk to Warrick about. Wanting to give them some time alone, Nick told Sara, "Greg and I are going to go ahead to the conference room. We'll save you a seat."

After Nick and Greg left, Warrick sat down beside Sara and asked, "What's up?"

"I, um, just wanted to apologize for not telling you about Connor. I wanted to. I just didn't get a chance. Okay, that's not entirely accurate. I had eight years worth of chances; I just didn't know how."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. When you have a free moment, I'd like to try to explain to you why I did what I did."

"Sara, you don't have to."

"Yes, I do. You're my friend, and I lied to you, and you deserve an explanation. I'd tried to explain everything to you now, but--"

"But we have to go to a meeting."

"Yeah, that."

"Hey, you know, whenever. It's fine. I'm not in a rush. If we get a chance to talk about it tonight, we'll talk about it. If we don't, we don't. Just don't stress about it, okay?"

"I'll try," Sara said, staring down at the floor. Too bad these days stress is my middle name, she thought.

Catherine appeared in the door. "Guys, Ecklie wants us in the conference room like now," she told them.

"We know," Warrick told her. "We're coming." Warrick stood up from the bench and offered Sara his hand. "Come on. Let's go to a meeting."

Sara took his hand and stood up. "Let's go."


	66. Chapter 66

"I'm so glad the two of you managed to take time out of your busy schedules and join us," Ecklie sarcastically told Sara and Warrick when they walked into the conference room.

"Sorry," they told him, taking a seat. Grissom, Catherine, Nick, Greg, and Ronnie were already seated around the table.

"So I guess you're wondering why I asked you all here. I've decided to make a few changes around here."

"I knew it!" Greg exclaimed. "You are breaking us up again."

"No, Greg, I'm not. I thought about it, but then I realized that I actually like the people I have working on days and swing, so I'm not going to punish them by making them work with the seven of you."

"Gee, Conrad. Tell us how you really feel," Grissom said.

Ecklie glared at Grissom before continuing. "Starting tonight, Gil will no longer be supervisor of graveyard."

"You're firing him?" Sara asked angrily.

"No, I'm not."

"Then you're demoting him. Why? Because of me?"

Ecklie shook his head and sighed. "Sara, believe it or not, the whole world doesn't revolve around you and the dysfunction you call a marriage. And to answer your question, no, I'm not demoting Gil either."

"But you just said…"

"I know what I just said. If you would let me finish the rest of my sentence, you would also know what I was going to say after that."

"But…"

"Sara, it's okay," Grissom told her, trying to calm her down. "Just let him say whatever he has to say. Whatever it is, it'll be okay."

"Fine," Sara said, sitting back in her chair and crossing her arms.

Ecklie started again. "As I was saying, starting tonight, Gil will no longer be supervisor of graveyard; he will be _co-supervisor_, as will Catherine. That means Gil and Catherine will now share the title of supervisor equally. There will be no senior-junior division between them, no inequitable division of labor, and no discrepancy in pay. That means, Catherine, you'll see a significant increase in your next paycheck."

"Thank you, Conrad," Catherine said.

"You may not want to thank me just yet. Because you will be sharing the title of supervisor, you will also be sharing the office of supervisor. A few minutes ago, I had another desk moved into Gil's office. That desk, Catherine, is for you."

"Wait, you want me to actually share an office space with Gil?"

"I believe that's what I just said."

"But there's barely room in there for one person, let alone two."

"Then I suggest you help Gil find somewhere else to store his wall of misfit animals."

"They're not all animals, Conrad," Grissom told him.

"I don't care what they are. Just move them or live with them. It's your choice."

"But what about my old office?" Catherine asked.

"Catherine, you gave up your old office when you gave up being supervisor of swing. You shared that office with the days supervisor then. You can learn to share this office with Gil now."

"But…"

"No buts, Catherine. You have two choices. You and Gil can learn to coexist in the same space, or I can demote you both and put Nick in charge of graveyard. I'm sure he won't complain about the square footage."

Now it was Catherine's turn to lean back in her chair and cross her arms. "We'll coexist," she muttered.

"Good choice. Now sharing the title also means sharing the responsibility for the rest of you. Catherine, for obvious reasons, you will be responsible for Sara and Greg. Gil, for equally obvious reasons, you will be responsible for Warrick and Ronnie."

"How is that obvious?" Grissom asked.

"What, Sara didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"That those two are together," Ecklie said, as he pointed to Catherine and Warrick. The two looked surprised that Ecklie knew about them, and Grissom looked surprised that he didn't. "That's right. I know all about the two of you," Ecklie told Catherine and Warrick. He then turned to Grissom and said, "Apparently, you and Sara started a trend around here."

"What about Nick?" Greg asked. "You didn't say anything about him."

"I was just getting to him. Nick, starting tonight, you will be the assistant supervisor of graveyard."

"Sweet," Nick said. "Do I get an office?"

"No."

"Do I have to share one with them?" he asked, pointing in Catherine and Grissom's direction.

"No, but you do get a raise. Like Catherine, you'll see that reflected in your next paycheck."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me. Thank Sara. She was quite adamant that you deserved a raise for all the work you've done while Gil was away."

"Thanks, Sara."

"You're welcome," Sara responded.

"So who's in charge of Nick?" Grissom asked.

"That's up to you and Catherine to decide. Flip a coin. Draw straws. Do Rock, Paper, Scissors. I don't care, so long as neither of you is sleeping with him. You're not sleeping with Nick, are you?" he asked Catherine and Grissom.

"No," they answered simultaneously.

"Good. Then it's up to you to decide who does his reviews."

"What about the lab rats?" Catherine asked.

"Are either of you sleeping with any of them?"

"No," they answered again.

"Good. Then I suggest you draw names out of a hat. Gil seems to have plenty of those you can use. Are there any more questions?" Ecklie asked the group. When no one responded, Ecklie stood up from his chair and said, "In that case, this meeting is adjourned. I suggest we all get to work."

* * *

Everyone but Sara got up from the conference table and left the room. When Grissom realized that Sara hadn't followed them, he returned to the conference room and sat down beside her.

"Honey, what's wrong?" he asked her.

"This is all my fault," Sara told him.

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is. If I had just gone back to swing instead of insisting on returning to graveyard, you'd still be the team's one and only supervisor. Ecklie's dividing the team up because of me."

"It's okay, Sara. I'm not upset about it."

"But you should be. It's been your job for eight years. Your job, not Catherine's."

"And it still is my job. I just have half the paperwork now, that's all."

"And half the responsibility."

"That's not a bad thing, Sara."

"Really? And how's that?"

"Half the responsibility means half the time spent at work and twice the time spent at home with you and the kids."

"But what about your office?"

"So I'll move my wall of misfits, as Conrad calls it, into the break room. It's no big deal."

"But you're going to have to share your office with Catherine."

"So?"

"So you like your solitude."

"True."

"How are you going to have that with Catherine just a few feet away?"

"I don't know. I guess if I want to be alone, I'll go hide out in the men's room. She won't be able to find me there."

"You don't know Catherine very well."

"Yes, I do, which is why I learned to tune her out years ago. It'll be fine."

"The two of you will kill each other."

"Maybe. Maybe not. Hey, it could be worse."

"Really? And how's that?"

"Conrad could have made Hodges co-supervisor."

"You have a point. You know, he cornered me in the locker room again."

"Who, Conrad?"

"No, Hodges. Apparently, he was surprised I was still here. He basically told me that, if he were you, he would have kicked me to the curb for my multitude of sins."

"But he's not me."

"Ah, but he is. According to Hodges, you're two peas in a pod, mirror images of each other, cut from the same cloth, etc., etc."

"Well, that's a scary thought."

"Yes, it is. I had to finally start talking about our sex life to get rid of him."

"That actually worked?"

Sara nodded. "When I offered to go into the graphic details, he couldn't get out of there fast enough."

"I would have loved to see that."

"I'm sorry."

"For what, talking about our sex life?"

"No, for all of this."

Grissom sighed and took Sara's hand. "Honey, you've got to stop blaming yourself for everything that goes wrong in our lives. This is not your fault. Catherine has been gunning for my job for years. My leaving just finally gave her the opportunity to go to Conrad and argue for it."

"But you would have never left if it wasn't for me."

"Sara, stop this. I'm okay. Catherine's okay. It's all going to be okay."

Although Sara nodded in agreement, she knew that it wasn't.

* * *

"You're okay with this?" Catherine asked Grissom in disbelief. "You are okay with all of this?" she asked again, motioning around at the cluttered mess that had become their office.

"Yes, I am."

"And how is that even remotely possible?"

"Because now you get to do half of my paperwork. I can't very well complain about that."

"Well, then I guess I'll have to do the complaining for the both of us because I am not okay with this."

"What did you want Conrad to do, Catherine? Fire me?"

"No, just…"

"Just what, Catherine? Demote me and give you my job?"

"Do you want to know the truth?"

"I wouldn't expect anything less."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I wanted Conrad to do. I took over your job, no questions asked, when you disappeared. I held this place together. I earned the right to be supervisor, not some ridiculous co-chair."

"You did my job for four months, Catherine. I've been doing it for eight years."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, don't confuse convenience with experience, Catherine. Conrad let you assume the role of supervisor not because you were the most qualified for the job, but because you were the only one available. Now, I could make an issue of that fact, call in a few favors, get my office and my title back, but I won't because I'm perfectly okay with all of this. Maybe it's time you started being okay with it, too." Grissom stood up from his desk and started walking towards the door. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go round up some volunteers and get these shelves moved to another room."

* * *

"Any match on those dental records yet?" Greg asked Sara.

"No, not yet. With my luck, it'll be the last file I look at or none at all. We don't even know that the guy we found in Red Rock Canyon Friday night was from Vegas."

"And these are all just the Vegas files?" Greg asked, surveying the seemingly endless stacks of files in front of Sara.

"Yep."

"Do you want some help?"

"I'd love some."

Greg sat down on the stool beside her and grabbed the closest pile of files. "Good, because Catherine's on a war path and Grissom's looking for volunteers to move the stuff out of his office."

"So what you're saying is that you're looking for somewhere safe to hide."

"Maybe."

"And here I thought you actually wanted to help me."

"I do. Can't I do both?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"You know, the offer still stands. If you need to talk about Grissom or anything else, I'm here for you."

"Thanks, Greg, but I'm okay for now. How about you? Is there anything you want to talk about?"

"Not really."

"We're always talking about my love life, but we never talk about yours. How's that going?"

"It's not."

"That bad?"

"That nonexistent."

"Can I help?"

"Not unless you can set me up with one of your friends from the bar."

"But then they wouldn't be my friends anymore."

"Ha, ha. What about your friend Cameron?"

"What about her?"

"Is she single?"

"No, she's dating my brother."

"Is it serious?"

"Yes, it's serious."

"Too bad. She's hot. Is there any chance you'll wake up tomorrow and realize that I'm your one and only?"

"Um, no."

"How about the day after that?"

"No."

"How about three months from now?"

"Greg…"

"Hey, you were the one who asked if you could help. I'm just telling you how you can."

"I meant like by setting you up on a blind date or something, not by setting you up with me."

"Okay, okay. How about contacting eHarmony for me and convincing them to accept my application? That could help."

"Did they reject you?"

"Yes," Greg answered hesitantly, clearly embarrassed by the admission. Sara started laughing in response. "What? It happens all the time," he told her.

"If you say so, Greg."

"It does. Haven't you seen the commercials?"

"Yes, but I thought that the other dating site was just making it up so that people would use their service."

"Well, they're not. It happens all the time. They reject you, and they don't even tell you why. Do you think it's the hair? I mean, if it is, I can probably slick it down if I use enough gel."

"No, I don't think it's the hair, and don't slick it down. The hair's you. If eHarmony doesn't like it or you, it's their loss, not yours."

"You think?"

"Yes, I think."

"Any chance you have any long-lost sisters you haven't told us about?"

"Not that I know of. About the closest thing I have to a sister is--"

"Sara, we need to talk," a voice said behind them.

Greg and Sara turned around, and Sara finished her sentence, "Catherine."

* * *

"Just remember, you can run, but you can't hide," Greg whispered to Sara on his way out the door.

"I think I can handle her, Greg," Sara whispered back.

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you," he told her. He then turned to Catherine and said, "Congratulations, Catherine, on the promotion."

"Thanks, Greg. Now leave," Catherine ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," Greg answered, as he hurried out of the room.

"So, Catherine, what do you want to talk about?" Sara asked.

"What do you think?" Catherine asked.

"Uh, your promotion?"

"No. Try the long-lost kid you never told anyone about."

"Oh, that."

"Oh, that. What the hell, Sara?"

"I have a son named Connor. He'll be nine next month. Grissom is his father. What else do you want to know?"

"How about why?"

"Why I have a son? Um, okay. Let's see. Grissom and I had sex. His sperm joined with my egg, fertilizing it and forming a zygote with an XY karyotype. The zygote divided and became an embryo. The embryo developed into a fetus, and roughly nine months after fertilization I gave birth to a boy."

"Thank you, Sara, for the biology lesson. What I meant was why the hell did you lie to Gil for the last ten years and the rest of us for the last eight?"

"Well, technically, I didn't lie. None of you ever asked me if I had a kid."

"We shouldn't have had to ask. You should have volunteered that information."

"And why is that, Catherine? Because you're a mother, too?"

"Damn straight."

"And that what, makes us part of some secret club? What would you have done if you had known? Would you have rolled out the welcome wagon for me or would you have been just as cold and territorial as you were the first day I walked into this lab?"

"I was neither cold nor territorial."

"Yes, you were. You made it very clear from day one that this was your lab and your shift and your people--that is, your territory--and you didn't like me encroaching on it. Hell, you practically heisted your leg on every corner on this building just to prove the point."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. Tell me, how many years did I work here before you finally invited me to one of Lindsey's birthday parties?"

"I don't know. I'm sure I'm invited you the first year."

"No, you didn't. It took you three years to invite me."

"I'm sure it was just an oversight."

"No, you made it very clear that it wasn't. You also talked down to me every chance you got. You were only nice to me when you needed to use me for something. You made snide comments about my appearance."

"I never did that."

"Yes, you did. I asked you for a mirror one day at a crime scene and you said and I quote, 'Since when do you care about how you look?'"

"I'm sure I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"And I'm sure you did. The point is, Catherine, that you didn't exactly make it easy for me to whip out my wallet and show you pictures of Connor."

"Okay, so why didn't you tell Warrick or Nick?"

"It never came up in conversation."

"And Gil?"

"I had my reasons."

"Like what?" Catherine asked. Sara shrugged in response. "Oh, don't tell me you're going to play the dead, abusive father card again."

"Excuse me."

"You heard me. So your father was murdered? Big deal. So was mine. You don't see me using Sam's death to excuse every bad thing I've ever done."

"I can't believe you just said that."

"Why not? It's the truth. It's what you do. You go off on a domestic violence suspect, and we're all just supposed to forgive you for it because your father beat you. You freak out in a stabbing case, and we're expected to turn our heads and pretend you didn't because you saw your mother kill your father when you were twelve. You get too involved in a foster kid case, and once again, it's all okay because you spent time in the system, too. You don't see the rest of us getting those kind of allowances."

"Really? Because if I remember correctly, you've had your fair share of allowances. Let's see. There was that rape case against Eddie. Grissom should have never let you anywhere near that case, but he did. Then of course, there was Lindsey's kidnapping, Eddie's murder, your half-brother's murder, and the countless number of cases your father was involved in. I also heard something about you using lab resources a few years ago to determine your own paternity. Now, I've lost count, Catherine, but I'm pretty sure that means that you've gotten way more allowances than me."

"Maybe, but at least I'm not constantly playing the victim. You are. Poor Sara with her dead, abusive father and her homicidal mother and the big brother who ran off and left her in foster care. Poor Sara, who got left out in the desert under a car and was too stupid to stay with the car and wait for help. Poor Sara, in love with a man who took seven years to love her back. Poor, poor Sara."

Sara shook her head in amazement, as she realized what Catherine was really mad about. "So that's what this is all about? You're not mad because I didn't tell you about Connor. You're mad because I even have Connor."

"Excuse me."

"It's all starting to make sense. All this time, I thought you didn't like me because I wasn't Holly or because I was an outsider or because you didn't want another woman on the team, but that wasn't it at all. You don't like me because of Grissom."

"Please."

"No, it's true. You're a woman who's used to using her physical assets to get whatever and whomever she wants. You flip your hair and bat your eyelashes, and you expect the men around you to just fall at your feet. And most of them do, most except Grissom."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? What did you do before I got here, Catherine? Did you pop a few buttons open on your shirt, and Grissom didn't even notice? Did you lick your lips, and instead of finding it seductive, he just offered you his Chapstick? Did you talk endlessly about all your sexual escapades and instead of being impressed or turned on by it, he just tuned you out? I'm sure that made you nuts, knowing that there was one man out there you couldn't wrap around your finger. Then I come along--some geek who, as you put it, doesn't even care what she looks like--and I'm the one he pays attention to. I'm the one he chooses to be with. I'm the one he has children with, and you can't stand that."

"Oh, please. Like I'm in love with Gil."

"It's not about love; it's about power, more specifically, your power over men. That's why you have so much respect and admiration for Lady Heather. She dominates men, and you're not happy unless you do, too."

"No, Sara, what I have respect and admiration for are women who don't abandon their children, something you obviously know nothing about."

"Well, we can't all be as perfect as you, Catherine."

"I never claimed to be perfect, Sara. I just claimed to put my child first."

"Really? And when was the last time you spent an entire day with Lindsey?"

"I don't know. A couple of weeks ago maybe."

"And when was the last time you spent an entire day with Warrick?" Catherine said nothing. "That's what I thought. And for your information, at the time, I thought I was putting Connor first. I thought I was doing what was best for my son."

"And how could leaving your son with God-only-knows-who be better for him than living with his mother and father?"

"You know, when I got up this morning, I had every intention of telling you the answer to that question, Catherine, but you've made it perfectly clear that you really don't want to know it. All you want to do is to continue to put me down, the way you've put me down for the last eight years. Now you can just add deadbeat mother to your list of insults."

"You're right. I don't care what the answer is, but I bet the people at Children and Family Services do."

"Are you threatening me?"

"No. I'm just stating what everyone else is thinking and is just too scared to say to your face. Both of your children would be better off in foster care than with the likes of you, just like Gil and this team would be better off without the likes of you. No one missed you, Sara. No one wanted you back. We just told you that because we thought it was the polite thing to say. The truth of the matter is, we were doing just fine without you. In fact, we were doing better than fine. We were perfect. Now you come back and screw everything up."

"Gee, Catherine, why don't you tell me how you really feel."

"I'm trying. I've held my tongue long enough, but no more. No one wants you here. I don't. The guys don't. Gil sure as hell doesn't. I'm sure he's in his--I mean, our--office right now, calling his divorce attorney as we speak. I'm sure he's just counting down the days until he's free of you and he can be with Heather because let me tell you, honey. No man in his right mind is going to choose you over Heather Kessler, and you're living in a dream world if you think otherwise. So take a hint, go get in your car, and drive back to L.A. I'll even buy you the gas if you leave now."

"No."

"Then I guess I'm just going to have to call Children and Family Services," Catherine said, as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. When she flipped the phone open to dial the number, a hand reached over her shoulder and took the phone.

"You won't be calling anyone," Grissom told her.

Catherine turned around and saw Grissom, Nick, Warrick, and Greg standing behind her.

"We could hear the two of you down the hall," Nick told them.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know we were that loud," Catherine responded.

"Like that would have mattered," Warrick said. He shook his head at Catherine and started to walk away.

"Warrick, wait," Catherine said, as she attempted to go after him. Grissom, however, thwarted her efforts by placing himself between her and Warrick.

"No, you wait," Grissom told her. "You and I need to have a little talk right now in my office!"

"I thought it was our office."

"Not anymore," Grissom said, as he lead her by the arm out of the room.

With Catherine gone, Nick and Greg stepped into the room.

"Are you okay?" Greg asked Sara.

"Yeah, I'm just swell."

"Sara, what she said about us not wanting you here, that's not true. We do want you here," Nick told her.

"Thanks, Nick, but I don't believe you," Sara said, as she pushed past him and left the room.

"Well, that's just great," Nick said. "Catherine just took what little progress we've made with Sara and shattered it into a million pieces for no other reason than she's pissed at Ecklie for not demoting Grissom."

"I told Sara Catherine was on the war path, a lot of good it did." Greg looked down at his watch and cursed under his breath.

"What's wrong now?" Nick asked.

"It's 12:15."

"So?"

"So Sara's birthday officially started 15 minutes ago."

"Great. Some way to start off your birthday."

"Tell me about it."


	67. Chapter 67

Grissom continued to lead Catherine by the arm until they reached their office. He then commanded her to sit at her desk.

"Fine," Catherine told him, sitting down in her chair and crossing her arms in anger. She glared at Grissom as he sat down in his own desk chair. "So?" she asked Grissom.

Grissom glared back and asked, "So what the hell was that all about?"

"What did it sound like?"

"It sounded like you were threatening to have my kids thrown into foster care and telling my wife that no one, including me, wants her here."

"Well, that about covers it."

"What is your problem?"

"Sara's my problem."

"Are you sure it's not Conrad who's your problem?"

"No, I'm pretty sure it's Sara."

"And what did she ever do to you?"

"She lied to me everyday for eight years for starters."

"Sara didn't lie to you, Catherine. She just didn't tell you everything."

"Don't tell me you're buying into that crock of bull. She didn't lie; she just omitted the truth? Please. Gil, Sara looked you in the eye everyday for eight years, and not once did she bother to tell you that you had a son. I'm mad about that. How can you not be?"

"I never said I wasn't mad."

"Well, you don't seem mad. You seem downright complacent."

"What do you want me to do, Catherine? Should I yell at Sara until she cries? Should I publicly humiliate her like you just did? Should I kick her to the curb like Hodges wants me to do? What? Tell me what I should do."

"I vote for all three."

"So you want me to yell at her, humiliate her, and then get rid of her? How do any of those things help me?"

"Well, let's see. Yelling at Sara and humiliating her would make you feel better about yourself, and then getting rid of her would give you a better quality of life."

"Did yelling at Sara and humiliating her make you feel better about yourself?"

"It sure did."

"And was that good feeling worth losing a friend?"

"Sara has never been my friend, Gil. She's been a minor annoyance at best."

"She thought you were friends."

"Well, then she's not as smart as that Harvard education of hers would lead us to believe."

"So why have you been nice to her for the last week?"

"I was being polite, and that was before I knew about Connor. Here's a better question. Why are you being nice?"

"Because she's my wife, and I love her."

"Then you're not as smart as I thought you were either. Come on, Gil. You can do so much better than Sara."

"There is no one better than Sara."

"Oh, please. Spare me the mushy mumbo-jumbo before my gag reflex kicks in. There are plenty of people better suited for you than Sara."

"Like whom?"

"Like Heather for starters.

"When did you suddenly become Heather's biggest fan?"

"When I found out that Sara had lied to me for eight years."

"But just a few months ago you were telling me to go after Sara."

"Again, that was before I knew she had lied. If I had known the truth, I would have told you to go after Heather instead. She's more your type anyway."

"So now you know my type?"

"I know every man's type."

"And let me guess. It's involves a push up bra, high heels, and a ton of makeup."

"You said it. I didn't."

"Funny. That kind of sounds like you."

"Can I help it if men like me?"

"Not all men."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means Sara had a point, Catherine. You're not mad that Sara lied to you. You're not mad about what she did to me. What you're mad about is that, despite everything Sara has done, I still choose her over you."

"Don't flatter yourself, Gil."

"I'm not. I know that you've never had romantic feelings for me, but I also know that you haven't let that stop you from, as Sara said, using your assets to try to get me to do what you want all these years."

"Sara's full of it."

"Is she? Then what's with the clothes, Catherine?"

"What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Well, how should I say this? They always seem to be a size too small."

"My clothes fit just fine, thank you."

"As long as you don't exhale, but I guess that's the look you're going for. You want me and every other man in this place to think that the buttons are going to go at any minute and we're going to catch an eyeful. That's how you keep us all in line."

"Now you're full of it."

"Maybe. Maybe not. The thing is, Catherine, if you had bothered to pay any attention to me at all, you would have realized that I'm not a T & A type of guy. I'm more interested in a woman's heart and brain, and right now neither one of yours is looking that great." Grissom stood up from his desk. "Now I'm going to go look for my wife and see if I can undo any of the damage that you've just done. Oh, and by the way, this is my office, not yours and not ours. You're just here on borrowed time. If I ever hear you threaten my wife again, that time is going to be over, and you're going to see what I'm like when I'm mad at someone who is not my wife. Now have a nice night."

* * *

"There you are."

Sara looked up from her spot on the bathroom floor. She unrolled another piece of toilet paper from the roll that she was holding and wiped at the tears on her face. "Hey, Warrick," she said.

Warrick shut the bathroom door and sat down beside her. "You do realize that this is the men's room, don't you?"

"So that's what that little guy on the door meant?" Sara asked.

"Afraid so," Warrick answered.

"I'm aware of it. Grissom said earlier that, if he needed to get away from Catherine, he'd just hide in the men's bathroom. I thought I'd give it a shot."

"I'm sorry about what she said earlier."

"You're not here to plead her case, are you? Because if you are, you can just go use the lady's room next door."

"No, I'm not. For what it's worth, I don't think she's mad at you. I think she's mad at Ecklie. You were just the person she took it out on. It doesn't excuse the things she said though. Just believe me when I say she wasn't speaking for all of us."

"If you say so, Warrick."

"I do say so, Sara. Things weren't the same with you gone."

"No, they were better."

"According to Catherine. Not according to the rest of us."

"So if you're not here for Catherine, why are you here?"

"For you. You wanted to talk, and I figured now was as good as a time as any, before either one of us gets called out on a case."

"What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you want me to know."

"I don't know where to start."

"How about at the beginning. You and Grissom met at the Forensic Academy Conference in San Francisco, right?"

"Right. I was in one of his classes."

"And I take it that it was love at first sight."

"Love? I don't know if I'd go that far, but lust…Yeah, I'd say it was definitely lust at first sight, at least on my part, so being the uber-geek that I am, I did everything I could to get Grissom to notice me."

"So you became the teacher's pet?"

"I tried my hardest. I'm still amazed I didn't pull a muscle raising my hand so much. By the last day of the conference, I had finally worked up enough nerve to go up to Grissom after class and ask him out to dinner."

"I take it he said yes."

"Yeah, he did. I don't even think Grissom realized that I was hitting on him until I followed him back to his hotel room and, um, kind of jumped him."

"Okay, I don't need to know any more details than that."

"Good, because despite what I told Hodges earlier, I'm really not that comfortable giving them. Anyway, it was just that one night, and then Grissom got on a plane the next day for Vegas, and I went back home to my miserable life in San Francisco."

"Miserable? I thought you liked San Francisco."

"I did. I still do. I just didn't like the situation I was in."

"And what situation was that?"

"I was living with someone at the time, and let's just say that he wasn't a very nice guy."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he just wasn't."

"What did he do, Sara, cheat on you or something?"

"I don't know. Probably. Mostly, Michael just hit me."

"Sara, I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't be. It's not your fault. I'm the idiot who stayed with him. I don't know. I guess at the time that was the only type of life I knew, but then I met Grissom, and for a minute, I actually allowed myself to believe that I might finally have a chance at a different type of life."

"Obviously, that didn't happen."

"No, it didn't. When Grissom finally called me, he didn't even say anything about that night. He just asked me about this forensic book of his that I borrowed."

"That had to hurt."

"Yeah, it did, especially when that little plus sign showed up on the pregnancy test stick a few weeks later. I guess I knew even then that the baby was his, but I wouldn't let myself think about it. I just kept telling myself over and over again that the baby was Michael's, like if I said it enough times it would somehow make it true. But when Connor was born and the doctor put him in my arms, I couldn't deny it anymore. I mean, you've seen him. He looks just like Grissom."

"Yeah, he does."

"I couldn't deny who his father was, but I couldn't tell the truth either. Like I told Nick and Greg, I truly believed Michael would kill me if he found out Connor wasn't his."

"So what did you do?"

"I basically lived a lie for a year. I suffered through a really bad bout of post-partum depression. I cried a lot. I slept a lot. I'd alternate between not wanting to let Connor out of my sight and being scared to be around him at all. It didn't help that Michael was constantly telling me that I was a horrible mother, that I was going to hurt Connor, and that I was going to turn out to be just like my mother."

"Michael knew about your mother?"

"Yeah, he did. He lived right next door to us growing up. He was my brother's best friend. He knew about my mother, my father, everything from my childhood, which means he also knew how to hurt me with it, and he took every opportunity he could to do so. The only bright spot in my day was when I went to work and I got an email or a call from Grissom."

"So why didn't you tell Grissom about Connor during one of those calls or emails?"

"I was too scared to. I thought if I told him, he wouldn't want anything to do with me anymore, and that would be the end of that."

"But then he called and asked you to come here."

"Yeah, he did, and I was all ready to tell him about Connor. After we caught Holly's killer, I went to Grissom's office with every intention of telling him that he had a son, but I never got the chance. Before I could even say anything, Grissom told me that the night we spent together was a mistake and that he would take it back if he could."

"Ouch."

"Exactly. Ouch. I guess I thought if I told him then, that he would say Connor was a mistake, too."

"No one ever wants to hear that about their child."

"No, they don't."

"So why did you accept his job offer?"

"I don't know. I guess a part me thought I could convince him otherwise, that that night wasn't a mistake, that we were meant to be."

"But you didn't bring Connor with you."

"No, I didn't. I know it doesn't excuse what I did, but Michael had told me that I was a bad mother so many times that I actually started to believe him. I honestly thought I was a threat to my son."

"Sara, that's ridiculous."

"Is it? Look at my family history, Warrick. My father abused us, and my mother's a murderer. Who's to say I'm not going to end up like one or both of them?"

"You're not."

"But I didn't know that. I still don't. It's not like I cut Connor out of my life completely. I would drive out to San Francisco whenever I got a few days off, and I'd let Michael do whatever he wanted to do to me just so I could see my son."

"What do you mean whatever he wanted to do to you?"

"Hit me. Screw me. Call me names. Whatever."

"Sara…"

"Hey, don't look at me like that. It's what I deserved. No, scratch that. I abandoned my son. I deserved a lot worse. Anyway, about four years ago, I finally realized that Grissom was never going to see me as anything other than an employee, so I said screw it. I want my son with me, and if Grissom doesn't like it, he can just get over it, so I drove out to California with every intention of bringing Connor back here with me. The only problem was I was too late."

"How's that?"

"To make a long story short, Michael had figured out that he wasn't Connor's biological father and got a judge to award him sole custody just to get back at me."

"Couldn't you have taken him to court and had the custody order overturned?"

"In a perfect world? Yes. In Michael's world? No. He set my brother up for crimes he didn't commit and promised to turn him in to Internal Affairs if I didn't walk away."

"Nice guy."

"You're telling me. Ritchie wanted me to fight Michael anyway, but I couldn't do that to him, so I just shut down for awhile. I started drinking, before shift, after shift, it didn't matter. I even got stopped for a DUI."

"I didn't know that."

"No one did, no one but Grissom. Luckily, I got stopped inside the city limits, and I was just over the legal limit so the cop didn't charge me, but he did call my supervisor."

"What did Grissom say?"

"Honestly, I don't even remember. I'm sure it was something poetic and completely pointless since he didn't know what was really going on. Brass caught me eating cough drops at a crime scene and figured out I was drinking. He tried to talk to me about it, but I couldn't tell him either. I couldn't tell anyone."

"Well, obviously Grissom changed his mind about that night being a mistake."

"Yeah, I guess Grissom got a wake up call that night I got attacked at the mental institution. I guess he finally realized that he could lose me, and he didn't like the idea very much."

"So is that when the two of you finally…?"

"No, but it wasn't for Grissom's lack of trying. After Adam attacked me, I went home, and I called Michael, and I begged him to let me speak to Connor. He eventually gave in and put Connor on the phone. Connor kept crying and telling me that he missed me and that he wanted me to come home, and I just lost it. By the time Grissom showed up at my door, I think I had been crying for hours, and then Grissom comes in, and he tells me that he never meant it when he said that night was a mistake. You think I would have been happy to hear that."

"But you weren't?"

"No, I wasn't. It felt like it was too little, too late."

"So when did the two of you, you know?"

"After Nick was rescued. I think I finally realized that I didn't want to lose Grissom either."

"I guess I can understand that. It's why I married Tina."

"I know."

"Why didn't you tell Grissom then?"

"I didn't know how. How do you tell somebody something like that after seven years of not telling him anything at all?"

"I don't know. I guess you just do."

Sara shrugged. "I guess."

"So what changed? Why did you finally decide to tell Grissom about Connor?"

"I changed. Natalie changed me. That night in the desert changed me. You do a lot of soul-searching when you think you're going to die. I decided I wanted my son back, and bad mother or not, I was going to get him back."

"But you didn't tell Grissom immediately."

"No, I chickened out again. He was so happy that I was alive. I didn't want to destroy that happiness. "

"So you ran away instead."

"I didn't want to. I just felt like I was suffocating. Dr. Young says I have post-traumatic stress disorder."

"Well, I could have told you that."

"Thank you, Dr. Brown."

"You're welcome. Did you go straight to San Francisco fro Las Vegas?"

"Yeah, I did. I convinced Michael to let me see Connor. I bundled him up, and I took him to the beach one day, and I told him who his father really was."

"That must have gone over well."

"Actually, it did. Connor seemed almost relieved. He asked me if that meant he could finally live with me. I found out later that he had been planning on running away to Vegas to find me."

"And Michael just let you take him?"

"No, he fought me every step of the way, or to be more accurate, he beat me up and tried to rape me."

"Wait. Is that why Ava was premature?"

"Yeah, it was. Michael did damage to the placenta. I almost didn't have her at all."

"I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's not your fault."

"I know, but I'm still sorry. How did you get away?"

"Connor. He heard us fighting and tried to intervene. When Michael went after him, I was able to grab the taser gun I brought with me and shoot him with it."

"You tasered him?"

"Like I said, Natalie changed me."

"I guess she did."

"Anyway, I tied him up, locked him in a closet, and took Connor to my brother's house. Luckily, Ritchie had been able to acquire his own blackmail material against Michael. He paid Michael a visit and got him to sign over any rights he had to Connor. We stayed at my brother's until New Year's Eve, when I came back here to tell Grissom the truth, and you know the rest."

"Wow."

"Yeah, wow. Like I tried to tell Catherine, it was complicated. It still is."

"How are things going with Grissom?"

Sara shrugged. "I don't know. He says he wants us to stay."

"Do you believe him?"

"Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. After what Catherine just said, I'm back to no."

"You shouldn't be. Like I said before, Catherine doesn't speak for all of us. Grissom rarely says things he doesn't mean."

"That's true. I don't," Grissom said from the doorway.

"Hey, Griss," Warrick said. "Have things calmed down out there yet?"

"Not really."

"Great."

"Sara, you do know that this is the men's room, don't you?"

Sara looked at Warrick and rolled her eyes. "Yes, I do," she told Grissom.

"Interesting place to hide."

"I got the idea from you."

"I figured. I wanted to see if you were okay."

"I'm fine."

"No, she's not," Warrick told Grissom. He got up from the floor and motioned to where he was just sitting. "Pull up a tile. I was just leaving."

Grissom waited for Warrick to leave and then sat down beside Sara on the floor. "Is that true?" he asked her.

Sara shrugged. "Is what Catherine said true? Are you just biding your time until you can be with Heather?"

"No."

"Do you want me here?"

"Yes."

"Do you think the kids would be better off in foster care than with me?"

"Of course not."

"Then why did Catherine say those things?"

"Because she's mad at me for coming back and taking what she perceives to be her job. She knew the best way to hurt me was through you."

"But what did I ever do to her? I mean, a week ago, we were getting along fine. She was telling me that I could call her anytime I wanted if I needed help with Ava, and now here we are, and she's telling me to get lost. What happened?"

"Nothing happened, Sara. She's just Catherine being Catherine. A week from now she'll have calmed down, and she'll be wanting to swap casserole recipes with you." Sara raised her eyebrows at the suggestion, so Grissom retracted his statement. "Or not. Neither one of you are really the casserole cooking type, but you know what I mean."

"Yes, I know what you mean, but by then it might be too late. Catherine threatened to call Children and Family Services on me, Gil. That's not something you can easily take back."

"I know, Sara. I know. I spoke to her about it."

"You mean you didn't kill her?"

"I thought about it, but there's not a whole lot of places around here to hide the body, not to mention there are too many eyewitnesses walking around."

"True. Maybe I should just quit and make everyone happy."

"That wouldn't make anyone happy."

"It would make Catherine happy."

"No, it wouldn't because she still wouldn't have my job."

"It would make Hodges happy."

"No, it wouldn't because I'd still be married to you."

"It would make you happy."

"No, it wouldn't because I'd never get to see you."

"According to Catherine, that's a good thing."

"According to Catherine, wearing clothes you can't breathe in is a good thing, too. I wouldn't listen to everything she says."

"What?"

"Let's just say you were right about the whole button-popping, lip-licking thing."

"Oh." Sara was quiet for a minute and then asked, "Have you ever slept with Catherine?"

"God no."

"Have you ever had sex with her?"

"Again no."

"Are you sure?"

"I think I'd remember something that traumatic." Sara smiled at that statement. "See, I made you smile."

"Yeah, I guess you did."

"Look, Sara. Don't let Catherine get to you. You give her too much power when you do. I'll try to sneak some Midol into her coffee later. That should help her disposition." Sara smiled again. "Two smiles in one night. I'm on a roll." Grissom looked around the bathroom and said, "So, if there's a club for having sex on a plane, is there also a club for having sex at work?"

"Are you trying for three smiles in one night?"

"Maybe."

"In that case, there's not a club that I know of, but I guess we could start one."

"Yes, I guess we could."

* * *

Greg sat on the stool he had vacated earlier, rehearsing a series of bad jokes in his head. He wanted to cheer Sara up when she got back from wherever she had gone, if she came back at all. After what Catherine had said to her, he wouldn't blame Sara if she never stepped foot in the lab again.

When Sara finally entered the room, he was surprised to see her smiling and hear her humming a song.

"Uh, Sara?" Greg asked, as Sara sat down beside him.

"Yes, Greg."

"You're smiling."

"Am I?" Gregg nodded in response. "Hmm. I guess I am."

"But why?"

"I guess my night's getting better."

"But what about Catherine?"

"Catherine who?"

"Oh, I get it. We're doing the whole ignorance is bliss thing. I can go along with that. Catherine who, too."

"Do you want some music?" Sara asked him, as she reached for the radio.

"Sure, but won't Grissom complain?"

"Greg, I think it's safe to say that Grissom won't be complaining about anything for awhile."


	68. Chapter 68

"Hey, Hodges, wait up."

Hodges stopped in the hallway outside Grissom's office and turned around to see Wendy behind him. "So you're talking to me now?" he asked her.

"We work together, Hodges. I don't really have a choice," Wendy responded. She handed Hodges a sealed yellow envelope. "Here are the results of those tests you wanted."

Hodges looked down at the envelope and asked, "They're all in there? Every candidate?"

"Every last one."

"Perfect. I was just on my way to see Grissom." Hodges started to open the envelope, but Wendy stopped him.

"Wait," she told him. "You should probably keep it sealed. You wouldn't want Grissom to think you tampered with the results."

"Right. Good thinking, Wendy. Good thinking."

"Hey, I'm just here to help."

Wendy watched Hodges walk away, whistling what Wendy assumed was a song of victory. Henry, Mandy, and Archie joined Wendy in the hallway and watched as well.

"Not that we were eavesdropping on your conversation or anything, but Hodges is about to get totally humiliated, isn't he?" Mandy asked Wendy.

"Totally," Wendy answered with a smile.

* * *

"So is this the way it's going to be all night?" Catherine asked Grissom.

Grissom said nothing, as he continued to open his mail.

"You're just going to keep on ignoring me. That's real mature," Catherine stated.

Grissom sighed and put down the envelope he had been holding. Catherine was quickly destroying his good mood. "I'm not ignoring you, Catherine. I just don't have anything to say."

"That's funny. I've never known you to be at a loss for words."

"I'm not. I guess what I should have said was that I don't have anything nice to say, so I'm choosing not to say anything at all."

Before Catherine could respond, Hodges knocked on the office door. "Knock, knock," he said, peering in at them. "Am I interrupting?"

"Yes," Catherine said, at the same time Grissom answered, "No."

Hodges, confused by their answers, pointed at the two desks and asked, "What's with the two desks? Are you going to be sharing an office or something?"

Again, Catherine answered, "Yes," while Grissom answered, "No."

"Ecklie made us co-supervisors," Catherine explained.

"Co-supervisors?" Hodges questioned. "Does that mean you're both going to be my boss?"

"No. Gil will still be your boss. He pulled your name out of the hat."

"Thank God," Hodges said.

"Thank God indeed," Catherine said, as she stood up from her desk. "Come in, Hodges. He's all yours."

After Catherine left, Hodges sat down in the chair across from Grissom's desk. "Welcome back, boss," he told Grissom.

Grissom saw the envelope in Hodges's hand and realized what was coming. So much for my good mood, he thought to himself. "Thank you," he told Hodges.

"This place wasn't the same without you."

"I'm sure it wasn't."

"Of course, we all understand why you had to leave. If my wife had left me, I would have done the same thing."

"I wasn't aware that you were married, Hodges."

"I'm not. I just meant I can empathize."

"I'm sure you can."

"Where did you go, by the way, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Florida."

"How was that?"

"Sunny."

"Well, it is the Sunshine State."

"So I've been told." Grissom took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. If Hodges didn't get to the point soon, he was going to give him a headache. Wanting to speed things along, Grissom asked Hodges, "Is there something I can do for you, Hodges?"

"No, but there's something I can do for you."

"And what might that be?"

"This," Hodges said, handing Grissom the yellow envelope.

"And what is this?" Grissom asked.

"Your freedom."

"My freedom?" Grissom asked. Hodges nodded in response. "How is my freedom in a yellow envelope?"

"Well, boss, everyone knows that you only married Sara because you thought she was pregnant with your child."

"They do, do they?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, why else would you have married her?"

"Why else indeed?"

"We also know that you're only staying married to Sara because you feel some obligation to that child."

"Am I now?"

"Of course. You're a standup guy. That's one of the things I respect most about you. What I don't respect is someone who knows that you're a standup guy and uses that knowledge to exploit you."

"And that's what you think Sara is doing, exploiting me?"

"I don't think; I know. Sara went out and got herself pregnant, and then she tried to pass that baby off as yours so you'd marry her."

"That's a very interesting theory, Hodges."

"It's not a theory, boss; it's a fact."

"And I suppose you have the science to back that up."

"Of course. It's all in there," Hodges said, pointing to the envelope. "Go ahead. Open it up."

Grissom put his glasses back on, opened the envelope, and pulled out the papers that were inside. As Grissom flipped through them, Hodges said, "See. What did I tell you? Sara lied."

Grissom lowered the papers and peered over his glasses at Hodges. "No, Hodges, you did," he said.

"What?" Hodges asked, sitting up straighter in the chair.

"These tests say that I'm Ava's father."

"But…but that's impossible."

"It's all right here in black and white," Grissom said, as he handed Hodges the paperwork.

Hodges took the papers and flipped through them. "This can't be," he told Grissom. "This just can't be."

"Oh, but it can."

"How?"

"Do I really need to explain the birds and the bees to you, Hodges?"

"No, but…"

"But what, Hodges?"

"But I was so sure."

"So sure of what? That Sara's a liar? A slut? What?"

"Yeah, both of those."

"Sorry to disappoint you, Hodges, but she's neither."

Hodges put down the papers and said, "So this doesn't prove anything. I'm sure Wendy just fixed the tests so I'd look stupid."

"And why would Wendy do that?"

"Because she caught me flirting with Sara's friend from L.A, that's why. You know, fine, whatever. So we'll just do another test. We'll send it off to an independent DNA lab. I'll even pay for it."

"That won't be necessary."

"Why not? Don't tell me you actually want to raise some other man's baby."

"Ava's not some other man's baby. She's mine."

"You can't be sure of that."

"Yes, I can."

"Okay, so let's say for argument's sake that the tests are correct and you are Ava's father. They still don't prove that Sara hasn't lied and cheated on you."

"I don't need a test for that."

"You should. I know for a fact that Sara and Nick spent the night together."

"So do I."

"You mean she actually told you?"

"Yes, she did. She said she slept in the bed, and Nick slept on the sofa."

"And you actually believe her?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, what about that other kid she's trying to pass off as yours?"

"Connor?"

"Yes, Connor. You can't possibly believe he's yours."

"Yes, I do believe he's mine. I looked just like him at that age."

"But how can that be? I mean, for that to even be possible, the two of you would have had to…"

"To what, Hodges? Have sex?"

"Yeah, that."

"We did, Hodges. Quite a few times, in fact."

"But you would never do that and then offer Sara a job."

"But I did. I guess I'm not as stand-up as you think."

"But…"

"No more buts, Hodges. In fact, no more tests, no more harassment, no more theft, no more wallpapering the halls with pictures of my wife, and no more making fun of my kid's name." Seeing the surprised look on Hodges's face, Grissom continued, "That's right. Sara filled me in on everything you've done to her this past week, and I'm not impressed or happy about it."

"I was trying to help you out."

"And how does making my wife's life hell help me out?"

"Because I know you don't want her to be your wife."

"And how do you know that?"

"Because I wouldn't want her to be my wife."

"Right, because you and I are two peas in a pod, mirror images of each other, cut from the same cloth."

"Exactly."

"Hodges, I hate to break it to you, but except for maybe a few grey hairs and the fact that we both work in this lab, you and I are nothing alike. If I didn't want Sara to be my wife, I wouldn't have married her in the first place, and for the record, ours wasn't a shotgun wedding. I married Sara because I loved her and I wanted to spend my life with her. I didn't even know she was pregnant until Greg told me."

"But what about Lady Heather?"

"What about her?"

"You slept with her. That has to mean something."

"Yeah, it does. I means I was too drunk to think straight and nearly destroyed my marriage because of it."

"But…"

"Hodges, I already told you no more buts. Do you really want to help me?"

"Of course."

"Then I want you to start showing Sara some respect. No more snarls. No more snide comments. No more rumors about her sleeping with every guy on this team. From this moment forward, I want you to go out of your way to be nice and polite to her. If Sara passes you in the hallway, I want you to say 'hello' and ask her how her day's going. If she brings you evidence to test, I want you to say 'thank you' and 'please.' If you go to the break room to get a cup of coffee, I want you to offer her one. If you get to a door before she does, I want you to open it for her. Are you understanding what I'm saying?"

"Yes, I understand."

"Do you think you can do that?"

"I don't know."

"Wrong answer, Hodges. Either you can or you can't, and if you can't, then it's time you started looking for a new job."

"I can," Hodges mumbled, looking miserable at the prospect.

"Good. I'm glad we've reached a understanding. Now is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, that's it."

"Then I think it's time we both get back to work."

* * *

"Can you enlarge that part right there?" Warrick asked Archie, pointing to the top left-hand corner of the screen. A woman had been raped, beaten, and left for dead in the parking lot of the Tropicana Sunday night, and Warrick was hoping that the security video would give them a clear shot of the suspect's face.

"I can try," Archie said, clicking on that part of the screen.

Before Archie could enhance the image, Catherine walked in and asked Warrick, "Do you have a minute?"

"I'm busy, Cath," Warrick answered without looking at her.

"It'll only take a minute."

Archie looked from Catherine to Warrick and then got up out of his seat. "I was just going to get something to drink. Do either of you want anything?" he asked.

"No, I'm good," Warrick answered.

"No, thanks," Catherine said.

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

Warrick continued to look at the computer screen while Catherine walked up behind him. "What do you want, Catherine?" he asked.

"Can you even look at me?" Catherine asked in turn.

Warrick sighed and turned around. "I'm looking. So what do you want?" he asked again.

"I wanted to explain about earlier."

"There's nothing to explain."

"So you understand?"

"No, Catherine, I don't understand, and I don't want to. What you did to Sara was cruel and completely uncalled for. It wasn't enough that you exploited every one of Sara's insecurities; you had to threaten to call Children and Family Services on her as well. Now maybe you forgot what you went through when Eddie did the same thing to you, but I haven't, which is why I can't understand why you would ever do that to someone else, let alone to someone you call a friend."

"I wasn't actually going to call them."

"But Sara didn't know that. She still doesn't, and you don't even seem to care."

"I had my reasons."

"What reason could you possibly have to hurt her like that?"

"Hey, Warrick," Ronnie said from the doorway.

Warrick looked up and answered, "Yeah, Ronnie."

"Nick and Dr. Grissom just left for a crime scene out in the Southern Highlands. They want us to meet them there."

"Okay. I'm coming," Warrick told Ronnie. He looked at Catherine and said, "Don't answer that question. I actually don't want to know the reason. I'm not sure I want to know anything about you at all."

* * *

"So do you know what today is?" Nick asked Grissom on their way to the crime scene.

"Tuesday," Grissom answered.

"Right. Tuesday, September the 16th." When Grissom didn't respond, Nick looked over at him and said, "Don't tell me you forgot."

"Forgot that it was Tuesday the 16th?"

"No, forgot that it's Sara's birthday." Nick glanced over again and saw the stunned expression on Grissom's face. "Dude, you forgot your wife's birthday. That's not good, Grissom. That's not good at all."

"I know, Nick, but I've kind of had other things on my mind."

"Yeah, but still. It's her _birthday_. You're not going to score any points if you tell her that."

"You're probably right. Do you have any suggestions?"

"Call and get some flowers or balloons sent to the lab. At least that'll buy you some time."

"Good idea," Grissom said, as he unhooked his cell phone from the belt clip.

"I was also thinking that we could throw her a surprise party. I know it's sort of last minute, but I figure after what Catherine did to her earlier, she could use a little cheering up. We've already got the cake. We just need a location and a plan to get her there."

"Another good idea."

"I'm just full of them tonight."

* * *

"How many files do you have left?" Greg asked Sara.

"Um, five or so," Sara answered, flipping through the few files that she hadn't looked at yet.

"Yeah, me, too."

"I still don't have a match."

"Neither do I. Happy birthday, by the way."

Sara looked up from her file and over at Greg. "You remembered," she said, surprised that he had.

"Like I'd forget."

"I think everyone else did."

"Nah, I doubt it. I think they all just got caught up in the Catherine drama and forgot to tell you."

"Catherine who?"

"Right, I forgot. Catherine who?" Greg dropped another file to the side and commented, "No match."

Sara did the same. "Yeah, same here. Brass is going to love us when we tell him that he's going to have to look into missing person cases outside of Vegas."

"By us, you mean you, right?"

"Why me?"

"Because Brass likes you more. He's less likely to hold it against you."

"I'm not so sure about that. We haven't had the Connor conversation yet."

"Are you scared it's going to go the same way as your conversation with you-know-who?"

"That wasn't a conversation, Greg. That was a full-on assault."

"True."

"But, yeah, I guess I am. He and you-know-who have been Grissom's friends a lot longer than they've been mine. He could very well have the same reaction."

"Well, if Brass says anything about you being a bad mother, you should just point out that his daughter is--how should I say this--a lady of the night."

"Greg."

"Well, she is."

"But I'm not like you-know-who. I'm not going to throw that in his face."

"Well, in case you change your mind."

"I won't."

"But what about this case?"

"Yes, Greg, I'll tell him if it comes to that. I have to go to the PD later anyway with Nick. Brass and Sofia got the parents of those girls who were at the slumber party with Mary Sullivan to agree to let us take their fingerprints and a sample of their DNA. They're going to bring them by the precinct before school."

"Do you really think it was one of them?"

"Unfortunately, yeah, I do. Wendy tested the hairs we found in Mary's hand. They're definitely female. Wendy wasn't able to match them to any known sex offenders in CODIS, so those girls would be my next guess."

"Man, kids today can be brutal."

"Greg, kids have always been brutal."

"Yeah, but they haven't always gone on killing sprees."

"That we know of."

"I bet it almost makes you want to home school Connor and Ava."

"Almost."

"Um, Sara," Hodges said from the doorway.

"He never gives up," Sara whispered to Greg.

"You're just now noticing?" he whispered back.

Sara turned around and said, "Yes, Hodges."

"I, um, I'm going to go make a new pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?" Hodges asked Sara.

Sara, both surprised by and suspicious of Hodges's offer, looked over at her own cup and found that it was still half full. "Thanks, but I still have half a cup," she told him.

"Okay, but if you change your mind, just let me know."

"Okay. Thanks," Sara said, even more puzzled by Hodges's offer. When Hodges had left, she turned to Greg and asked, "What was that all about?"

"I have no idea. It's Hodges. I'm sure it was about something."

"Do you think he was going to spit in it?"

"Or worse."

Sara considered the possibility. "Okay, now I'm considering giving up coffee all together."

"You and me both. Here goes another file," Greg said, as he added another file to the discard pile. "This really isn't looking good."

"This may help," Judy said from the doorway.

Greg turned around and saw Judy holding a vase of red roses. "Are those for me?" Greg asked.

"Not unless your name is Sara," Judy answered.

"And here I thought you were finally professing your love for me, Judy."

"You wish, Greg. You wish." She handed Sara the vase of roses and said, "Happy Birthday, Sara."

"Thank you, Judy."

Sara fished the card out of the roses and opened the envelope that held it.

"That's a mighty big card," Greg commented.

"Yes, it is," Sara said, as she read the card silently to herself:

_I know you've had a hard time lately believing me when I tell you that I love you. Maybe it's because I don't always express my feelings as eloquently as I should. Here we are ten years later, and I still can't help but feel like a tongue-tied teenager when I'm with you. That's why I asked the florist to include this poem from e.e. cummings. I may not have composed it, but please know that I feel every word._

_i carry your heart with me (i carry it in_

_my heart) i am never without it (anywhere_

_i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done_

_by only me is your doing, my darling)_

_i fear_

_no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want_

_no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)_

_and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant_

_and whatever a sun will always sing is you_

_here is the deepest secret nobody knows_

_(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud_

_and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows_

_higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)_

_and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart_

_i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)_

_Happy Birthday, Sara._

_Love, Gil_

"So, who are they from?" Greg asked.

"Grissom."

"See, I wasn't the only one who remembered your birthday."

Sara wiped away a tear. "No, you weren't."

* * *

Great, Catherine's still in there, Sara thought to herself, as she stood outside Catherine and Grissom's office with the vase of roses in her hand. She needed to put the flowers somewhere. She was scared if she put them in her locker, they'd wilt, so she had decided to put them on her husband's desk instead. She had been walking up and down the hallway for about ten minutes in hopes that Catherine would eventually leave, but the woman had yet to get up from her desk. Apparently, Catherine could go all night without eating, drinking, or peeing, and that fact was starting to scare Sara.

Sara was starting to think that wilted roses were preferable to another confrontation with Catherine when Catherine called out to her from the office. "Are you going to stand out there all night, or are you going to come in?" she asked. Sara.

"I'm coming in," Sara answered and walked into the office.

Catherine looked at the vase and said, "Don't tell me you bought me flowers."

"I won't," Sara said, as she placed the vase on Grissom's desk.

"You bought Gil flowers?"

"No. He bought me flowers."

"Let me guess. Because I made you cry."

Sara turned around, crossed her arms, and smirked. "No. Because it's my birthday. Thanks for making it a happy one, Catherine."


	69. Chapter 69

"Thank you for the flowers," Sara told Grissom over the phone.

"You're welcome," he replied.

"They're beautiful."

"They're nowhere near as beautiful as you."

Sara laughed and asked, "Did you just say that within earshot of Warrick and Nick?"

Grissom looked over to see Nick and Warrick laughing at him. "Maybe."

"You know they're never going to let you live that down."

"I think I can handle them."

"Well, if they get too out of hand, just remind them that you do their reviews."

"I will."

"I put the flowers on your desk. I didn't want them to wilt in my locker. Hopefully, they'll still be in one piece when you get back."

"I take it that means Catherine is still being Catherine."

"Yep. Hopefully, I still be in one piece, too, when you get back."

"Hopefully. It's a lot easier to buy new flowers than it is to buy a new wife."

"Hey."

"Well, it is. I'm glad you liked them."

"I'm glad you sent them. I'll see you soon."

When Grissom hung up, Nick and Warrick walked over to him. They were still laughing at Grissom's end of the conversation.

"They're nowhere near as beautiful as you," Nick said to Grissom, as he mimicked Grissom's sentiments to Sara, batted his eyelashes, and held his right hand over his heart.

"Thanks, Nick. I didn't know you felt that way about me," Grissom replied.

"It's the grey hair. It really turns me on."

"I'll try to remember that."

"I take it Sara liked the flowers," Warrick commented.

"Yes, she did."

"Well, just remember that they don't last very long. You're probably going to want to get her something else to go with them."

"Any suggestions?"

"Jewelry," Nick answered. "Women always like jewelry."

"That's true," Warrick said.

Grissom nodded in agreement. He knew exactly where to get the jewelry, too.

* * *

"I'm bored," Greg said, as he spun his bag of potato chips around on the table.

"So I've noticed," Sara replied. "You know, Greg, those chips would be a lot easier to eat if you stopped playing with them and actually opened the bag."

Greg stopped spinning the bag. "Man, you're becoming such a mom. Stop playing with your food, Greg. Start eating your food, Greg. What's next? Are you going to tell me to sit up straight?"

"No, just to get your elbows off the table."

"Funny. Funny." Greg opened the bag and shoved a handful of chips into his mouth. "I'd kill for a good crime scene," he told Sara, as bits of chips fell from his mouth onto the table.

"Okay, Dexter, but do you think you could pick those up before you go and do that?" Sara asked, pointing at the crumbs.

"Sure, Mom," Greg said, as he swept the crumbs onto the floor.

"Greg."

Greg sighed and got out of his chair. "Fine, I'll get them off the floor." When he got on his knees and started to pick up the crumbs, he told Sara, "You know what I mean, though."

"Yes, I do. It's a slow night."

"It's so slow, it's practically comatose." Greg stood up, walked over to the trash can, and dropped the crumbs in it. "Happy now?" he asked Sara.

"Thrilled, Greg."

Greg sat back down at the table and started eating chips again. "Do you want to play cards?" he asked, as chewed up bits of chips again fell from his mouth.

"Seriously, Greg. Trying chewing with your mouth closed for once."

"Fine. But do you?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Great. Do you have any cards?"

"No. I thought you did."

'Nope. Sorry."

"So why did you ask?"

"Because I wanted to play."

Sara shook her head. "Greg, you just never cease to amaze me."

"Thank you."

"I didn't mean that as a compliment."

"Do you want to play checkers?"

"Let me guess. You don't have a checkers set either."

"Nope."

Sara shook her head again. Greg really did amaze her. Before Greg could suggest yet another form of entertainment, Catherine walked into the break room and cleared her throat.

Sara looked over at her and muttered, "Great," under her breath. "I guess it's time for Round 2."

Catherine, however, ignored Sara and addressed Greg. "Greg, I need you," she told him. "I just got a call about a hit and run out at Western LVU."

"Sweet. Hot co-eds," Greg said, as he stood up from the table. When he saw that Sara was still eating her food and trying her hardest to ignore Catherine, he asked, "Sara, are you coming?"

"I only need you, Greg," Catherine told him. "I don't need Sara."

Sara looked up at Catherine and smiled. "Ditto," she said.

* * *

"What are you sulking about?" Catherine asked Greg, as they got into the SUV.

"Nothing," Greg answered her, shutting the front passenger door.

"Do you want to drive or something?" Catherine asked him, shutting the driver's door.

"Nope."

"Then what's your problem?"

Greg started to answer her and then stopped. "Nothing's my problem."

Catherine put on her seatbelt and started the car. She didn't feel like arguing with Greg. Let him sulk; what did she care. Catherine reached over and turned on the radio. Whoever had driven the SUV last had left the radio on Sunny 106.5, Vegas's "Listen While You Work" station. Michael Bolton was currently singing "How Am I Supposed to Live Without You." Catherine turned the radio up, sat back, and waited for Greg's reaction to the music.

When Greg failed to reach over and change the station, Catherine exclaimed, "Now I know there's something wrong!"

"You know, Catherine, you're right. There is something wrong, and at the risk of getting fired, I'm just going to say what that something is: you."

"Let me guess. You're mad at me for what I said to your precious Sara."

"That would be correct."

"What is with you guys tonight? Suddenly you all have to be Sara's hero."

"Better her hero than her frenemy."

"What on earth is a frenemy?"

"To quote the movie Mean Girls, 'Frenemies are enemies who act like friends."

"Mean Girls? Since when have you seen Mean Girls"

"Since it came on TV one day. There was nothing else on."

"Sure there wasn't, Greg."

"There wasn't." Greg looked over at Catherine. He could tell taht she didn't believe him. Not wanting to get further sidetracked, he let the argument go. "Whatever, Catherine. My taste in movies is not the point. The point is that you showed your true colors tonight, and those colors screamed frenemy."

"Are you telling me you're perfectly fine with the whole Connor situation?"

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine with it."

"Sara lied to you, too, Greg."

"No, she didn't. She just didn't--"

"Tell you everything. I know. I've heard that line before. You're just as whipped as Gil is."

"You say whipped. I say loyal."

"Was Sara loyal to Gil when she kept his son from him all these years?"

"It doesn't matter. Sara did what she had to do to survive."

"Survive what? Life as a single mother?"

"No, life with a man who used her as a punching bag."

"Gil has never hit Sara, Greg."

"I never said he did."

"Then who are you talking about, her father? Boo hoo. That was several decades ago. She needs to get over it already."

"I was talking about Michael Barrett."

"Michael Barrett. Is that name supposed to mean something to me?"

"It would if you had bothered to let Sara explain earlier instead of biting her head off and threatening to send her kids to foster care. Michael Barrett is the man Sara was living with when she met Grissom, the man she originally thought was Connor's father. He abused her physically, psychologically, and if I read between the lines correctly, sexually as well. He told her day in and day out for years that she was a bad mother and that she was a danger to her son. When he found out that Connor wasn't his, he lied to the courts, got fully custody of Connor, and then blackmailed Sara and her brother into doing nothing about it. Oh, and he also beat and tried to rape Sara last year when she tried to take Connor. That's who Michael Barrett is."

Catherine, realizing how stupid she had been earlier, said, "I didn't know."

"No, you didn't, and apparently you didn't want to know either. What you did know, however, was how Grissom has treated Sara all these years. He pushes her away, and then he pulls her back in. He pushes her away, and then he pulls her back in. You've seen it. We've all seen it. I'm sure his behavior didn't exactly make it easy for Sara to say, 'Surprise! It's a boy!'"

"I guess it didn't."

"And if you think that Sara is the type of person who can just walk away from her child and not let it affect her, then you never really knew Sara at all. You don't honestly think that Natalie is the only reason Sara starts crying at the drop of a hat these days, do you?"

"No, but…"

"But what? You thought it just had to do with Lady Heather. Well, of course it has to do with Lady Heather. Heather, Natalie, Connor, Ava, Grissom, Michael, Ritchie, Sara's parents--it has to do with all of them. It even has to do with us. Where were we when Sara needed us? Not around, that's where. You knew that, and you let her have it anyway. Like I said. Frenemy with a capital F." Greg leaned over and changed the station to 97.1, the Point. "And for the record, Catherine. I don't entirely mind Michael Bolton. I gained newfound respect for him when he hooked up with that Desperate Housewife. Now Celine Dion, on the other hand, is a whole other story."

Greg turned the radio up louder as AC/DC began singing, "I'm on a highway to hell."

Catherine, contemplating her mistake, mumbled to herself, "Apparently, so am I."

* * *

"You know, you could have given me a heads up," Hodges told Wendy, as he snuck up behind her in the DNA lab.

Wendy glanced over her shoulder at Hodges. "Yes, I could have," she said.

"But you didn't."

"No, I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because you needed to learn a lesson, Hodges."

"A lesson about paternity?"

"No, a lesson about being nice to people."

"I am nice to Grissom."

"But you're not nice to Sara."

"I am now. Grissom ordered me to be nice to her. I have to open the door for her. I have to get her coffee. I have to pretend I care how her day's going."

"Well, when you stop pretending and actually do care, let me know. Maybe then we can talk."

* * *

Despite what Sara had told Greg, she was finding it hard to abide by the "Catherine Who?" mantra. She had known that Catherine would be mad at her for her omissions. She had even suspected that she would yell at her. What she hadn't known was that Catherine would hit so far below the belt. Sara couldn't help but dwell on Catherine's insults, especially the ones concerning her abilities as a mother and her desirability as a wife. She had been telling herself the same things for months--that no one wanted her, that her children were better off without her, that Heather was far more lovable and desirable than she'd ever be. At least now, she had confirmation that other people felt the same way.

All night Sara had practically jumped out of her skin every time she had heard footsteps behind her. For once, she didn't expect to see Natalie when she turned around. Instead, she expected to see a social worker from Children and Family Services, a court order requiring her to turn over her children in hand. While the flowers had given her some joy, they had not stopped her from watching the clock and counting down the hours and minutes until she could go home and see her children. Of course, she knew that social services could just as easily find her there as they could at the lab, but at least at home they might give her a few minutes to say goodbye.

As Sara got out of her SUV at the police station, her cell phone rang. Sara shut the door and answered the phone. "Hello."

"Happy Birthday!" she heard Richard and Cameron exclaim from the other end.

"Thanks," Sara replied. Sara looked at her watch. It was 6:45 a.m. "Uh, Cam, you do realize it's not even 7 yet."

"Yes, I realize that," she replied.

"Isn't that a little early for you?"

"Yeah, but I don't have a choice. I have to be on set."

"Oh, joy."

"Or not," Ritchie replied. "You do remember what she's like in the mornings, don't you?"

"Hello, I can hear you," Cammie told Ritchie. "But enough about me. What about you, Sara? How's your birthday going?"

"It's…um…it's going," Sara told them.

"That doesn't sound that good. Did McBuggy forget your birthday?" Cameron asked.

"No, he remembered. He gave me flowers."

"Well, he had better give you something, sis," Ritchie said.

"Ritchie, don't start," Sara responded.

"I'm not. I'm just saying it's the least he can do, considering."

"Did Connor give you our present yet?" Cameron asked.

"No. I haven't been home yet. I'm still at work."

"Right. Duh. Blonde moment. Just ignore me, Sara. The caffeine hasn't kicked in yet."

"She usually does," Ritchie joked.

"Again, I can hear you."

"Well, if McBuggy's not the problem, then what is?"

"Let's just say I'm finding out I have some fair-weather friends," Sara told her brother.

"Well, whoever it is, forget them," Cameron told her. "You have enough real friends anyway, and cheer up. It's your birthday."

"I'm trying."

"Well, try a little harder. Do you want me to make Ritchie sing to you?"

"I thought you wanted me to cheer up, not go deaf?"

"Thanks a lot, sis," Ritchie responded. "You know, I kept the receipt for your gift. I can still take it back."

"Only if Connor gives it back to you."

"I know how to bribe the kid."

"In that case, I take back what I said. You're a wonderful singer, Ritchie. Better than any American Idol."

"Now who's having a blonde moment?" Cameron asked.

"Funny, Cam. Very funny," Ritchie told his girlfriend.

"The truth hurts," she retorted.

"Uh, guys, don't think I'm not enjoying the banter, but I have a bunch of 12-year-old girls waiting for me to swab their cheeks."

"Okay, okay, we can take a hint," Ritchie said.

"Be careful, Sara. They bite at that age," Cameron joked.

Sara, thinking about her encounter with Catherine, stated, "Some never stop. I'll talk to you later."

"Bye, Sara," Ritchie and Cameron told her.

"Bye."

* * *

"Are they all here yet?" Sara asked Brass, who was waiting for her in his office.

"Not yet. We're still waiting on Abigail Morgan and Claire Roberts," Brass told her.

"Where's Nick?" Sara asked, as she sat down in the chair across from Brass's desk. She hadn't seen Nick anywhere when she walked into the station.

"I thought he was with you."

"No, he got called to a crime scene earlier. I thought he'd be done by now."

"I'm sure he'll show up soon."

"Yeah, probably about five minutes after I finish swabbing cheeks and taking fingerprints."

"That's usually how it happens."

Sara's phone rang again. "That's probably him now," Sara told Brass. She answered the phone without looking at the caller ID. "Hello."

"Hey, Mom."

"Hey, baby. What's wrong?"

"Nothin'. I just wanted to tell you happy birthday."

"Thank you. You sound tired."

"I am. Mornings suck."

"Hey, language."

"I know. I know. I shouldn't say suck, but they do."

"You're not giving Rachel any trouble are you?"

"No. I got up when she told me to."

"Good. Do you like her?"

"Uh-huh. She makes good toast."

"You're just not going to let that go, are you?"

"Sorry, Mom. Yours is good, too. Burnt, but good."

Sara laughed. "You should probably and go get ready," she told him.

"I know. I love you, Mom."

"I love you, too, baby." Sara hung up the phone and apologized to Brass. "Sorry about that."

"No problem," Brass replied. "So when did you start calling Nick baby?"

Sara laughed again. "It wasn't Nick," she told him.

"Gil?"

"No. It was Connor."

"Ah. Well, I guess that clears up the whole 'baby' thing."

"Yeah, he, um, hates it when I call him that. He thinks he's too old."

"Kids always do."

"Do you, um, have any questions for me about him?"

"No, I'm good."

"Don't you want to know why I didn't tell Gil?"

"I already know. Your brother gave me the Cliff Notes version of the story."

"Oh. Don't you want to tell me what a horrible person I am for it?"

"It's not my place to judge, Sara. That's between you and Gil."

"You might be the only one who thinks so."

"Are the guys giving you hard time about it?"

"No, but Catherine is."

"Well, no one has ever accused Catherine of being shy."

"No, they haven't. She threatened to report me to Children and Family Services."

"That was nice of her."

"She also told me that no one wants me here and that I'm kidding myself if I actually think Gil or anyone else would choose me over Heather."

"Even nicer. Don't tell me you actually believe her."

Sara shrugged and looked down at the floor. "How can I not? She's just saying what I've been thinking for months."

"Well, then you and Catherine are both wrong. Now I can't speak for everyone else, but I can say that I want you here, and I know Gil wants you here."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Not in so many words."

"Then you can't possibly know what or whom he wants."

"Hey, Cap," a uniformed officer said, as he knocked on Brass's office door.

"Yeah, Norm. What do you want?" Brass asked, annoyed by interruption.

"You wanted me to let you know when those other two girls got here. They're here."

"Right. Thanks for letting me know." After Officer Norman left, Brass turned to Sara. "Sara, Gil didn't have to tell me that he wants you here. Anyone who looks at him can tell that."

"I can't."

"Then maybe you need to get your eyes checked. That and stop listening to Catherine."

"Well, that's going to be a little hard, considering she's my boss now."

"You could invest in a good pair of earplugs."

"She'd just text message me."

"That's probably true. The rest of it, however, is not."

"I wish I could believe that."

"You can."

Sara stood up from the chair she had been sitting in. "We should probably get going. We wouldn't want those kids to be late for school."

"No, I guess we wouldn't," Brass said, standing up as well. As he followed Sara out of the office, he thought to himself, Catherine, what on earth have you done?

* * *

When Grissom got back to his office, he saw that the roses he had given Sara remained in one piece on his desk. He hoped that meant Sara, wherever she was at the moment, was in one piece, too.

Before he could sit down and enjoy a few minutes of peace and quiet, Catherine walked into the office. "Great, you're here," she said when she saw Grissom at his desk.

"Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you," Grissom told her.

"Well, don't worry. You'll be rid of me soon. I just have to grab a few things, and then I'll be out of your hair." Catherine grabbed some files off of her desk and threw them in her bag. She then started for the door but stopped before she went through it. "Look, Gil, I didn't know about Michael Barrett."

"Would it have mattered if you did? Or would you have just thrown him in her face, too?"

Catherine didn't answer him. Instead, she tried to apologize. "I'm sorry, okay?" she told Grissom. "I shouldn't have said the things I said, and I'm sorry."

"I'm not the one you should be apologizing to. Sara is."

"Speak of the devil," Catherine said, as Sara picked that moment to appear at the office door.

Sara, trying to take Brass's advice, pretended that she didn't hear Catherine call her the devil and turned her attention to Grissom instead. "I just have to drop off some samples, and then I'll be ready to go home whenever you are," Sara told Grissom.

"I'm ready now," he responded.

"Okay. Then I'll meet you at the car."

When Sara left, Grissom picked up the vase of flowers and addressed Catherine. "The guys are throwing Sara a surprise party this afternoon around four at the Lucky Strike Lanes. If you decide that you want to give her an apology for her birthday, that's where she'll be."

* * *

"Is she finally asleep?" Grissom asked Sara from the doorway of their bedroom. Sara was laying on their bed with Ava beside her.

"Finally," Sara said, as she stroked Ava's hair.

"Do you want me to put her in her crib?"

"No. Leave her. I just want to watch her sleep while I still can, before a social worker shows up and takes her away."

"Sara, Catherine isn't going to call anyone."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. She'd never do to you what Eddie did to her."

"Eddie reported her to social services?"

"Yes, not long after you moved here. Eddie wanted to reconcile. Catherine didn't, so Eddie called Children and Family Services and told them that she was neglecting Lindsey. I know for a fact that the subsequent investigation put Catherine through hell, which is why I also know that she would never put you through that same hell, no matter how much she huffs and puffs."

"I hope you're right."

"I am." Grissom sat down on the other side of Ava and handed Sara the gift-wrapped box that he had been hiding behind his back. "I got you something."

Sara sat up and looked at the box. "You didn't have to do that," she told him. "The roses were enough."

"The roses will die. This won't. Open it."

Sara tore off the wrapping paper, opened the box, and removed the item inside. "It's another cocoon," Sara said, as she looked down at the twig and the cocoon that hung from it.

"Actually, it's the same cocoon," Grissom told her.

"Oh. Okay. I guess it's the gift that keeps on giving."

"Open it."

"Uh, yeah, I don't think I want to do that," Sara said, as she put the twig and cocoon back in the box.

"Why not?"

"Whatever is in there is obviously dead by now, and I really don't want to have to clean some dried up, dead butterfly or caterpillar off the bed."

"Open it."

"Gil, seriously. It's going to crumble everywhere. I don't care if bugs are high in protein. I don't want Ava to eat them."

"Just humor me, Sara."

"Fine, but you're cleaning it up." Sara picked up the cocoon again. "What do you want me to do, break it open with my fingers?"

"Yes."

"This is so going to make a mess," Sara said, as she used her thumbs to tear apart the cocoon. "Okay, nothing's flying out. I told you, the thing's dead."

"Look closer."

Sara sighed and looked again at the open cocoon. "I don't see any stupid bu--," she told him, before she saw what was really inside the cocoon. Sara shook the cocoon and the item fell out into her hand. She was both amazed and confused by the discovery. Holding the item up, she said, "It's a…um…it's a ring. A diamond ring."

"I told you that you'd be surprised when it opened."

"Has that been in there all this time?"

"Yes."

"But how did it get in there?"

"A razor blade and some superglue."

"But why?"

"Why did I put it in there?" Grissom asked. Sara nodded in response. "I guess I thought it was more clever than going down on one knee."

"So it's an engagement ring?"

"I thought that was kind of obvious."

"But you sent it to me when you were teaching that seminar."

"True."

"But that was so long ago."

"Sara, I realized the first morning that I woke up without you next to me that I never wanted to wake up that way again."

"So why didn't you ask me to marry you when you got back?"

"I don't know. I guess I was scared you'd say no."

"But you asked me later."

"I know. It just kind of came out. In retrospect, it wasn't my most romantic moment ever."

Sara, remembering how he had taken care of her bee sting, disagreed. "Yes, it was," she told him. She held the ring out to Grissom. "Do you want to put it on?"

"Sure," he said, taking the ring from her. Sara held out her left hand, and Grissom slipped the ring on her ring finger.

"It's a perfect fit," Grissom said.

Sara looked down at her hand. "Yes, it is."


	70. Chapter 70

"_The Court hereby calls the case of __The People v. Sara Sidle with Two. Are all parties present?" _

"_Yes, your honor," the prosecutor answered._

"_Stand up," Philip Wilson whispered in Sara's ear. Sara obliged and stood up with her attorney. "Yes, your honor," Philip answered the judge._

"_You may be seated," the judge told the two parties. Sara, Philip, and the prosecutor all sat down at their respective tables. _

_The judge then looked at Sara and addressed her. "Miss Sidle, I have reviewed the evidence in your case, and I can honestly say that, in all my years on the bench, I have never seen someone more ill-suited to be a mother than you. I hope that one day scientists will be able to discover that there is, in fact, a bad mother gene so that women like you can be sterilized at birth. However, until that day comes, it will be my duty to separate the good mothers from the bad and to ensure that the bad mothers are not allowed to inflict misery on their children ever again. Miss Sidle, I hereby find that the State has proven it's case against you beyond a reasonable double. I am therefore terminating your parental rights and awarding full custody of minors Connor Gilbert Grissom and Ava Gillian Grissom to their father, Dr. Gilbert Grissom, and his wife, Heather Grissom."_

_Grissom, who was sitting on the first row of the courtroom behind the prosecutor, leaned over and whispered something in the prosecutor's ear. The prosecutor stood up and asked the judge, "Your honor, what about the other matter?"_

"_Right. The name change," the judge said, shuffling the papers in front of him on the bench. "Dr. and Mrs. Grissom have petitioned the court to change Ava Gillian Grissom's name to Zoë Gillian Grissom. Seeing as there are no objections to said name change--"_

_Sara stood up and said, "Your honor, I object."_

"_Miss Sidle, you no longer have the right to object. In the eyes of the law, said minor is no longer your child."_

"_But--" Sara started to protest, but Philip yanked her back down into the chair._

"_I'm sorry, your honor," Philip Wilson apologized for his client._

"_Don't let it happen again, counsel," the judge admonished Philip. "As I was saying, no objections to said name change having been filed, the Court hereby grants Dr. and Mrs. Grissom's petition. Minor Ava Gillian Grissom shall henceforth be known as Zoë Gillian Grissom. Are there any other matters to come before the Court?"_

"_No, your honor," the prosecutor answered._

"_No, your honor," Philip added._

"_Seeing as there are none, this Court shall be adjourned," the judge stated. The judge then rapped his gavel on the bench and left the courtroom._

_Sara turned to Philip and asked, "Can we appeal?"_

"_We can," Philip answered, "but it won't do any good."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because you really are a bad mother, Sara. Karen was a saint compared to you."_

"_I tried to tell her that," Catherine said, as she walked up to the railing that separated the rest of the courtroom from the defense and prosecutor's tables. "But she just wouldn't listen to me."_

"_Kind of like when I tried tell her that Grissom would kick her to the curb for what she did," Hodges said, standing beside Catherine._

"_It looks like we were both right," Catherine told Hodges._

"_Yes, it does," Hodges replied. "I guess we'll see you around, Sara."_

"_No, we won't," Catherine told him. "Sara, you're fired."_

"_Good one, Cath," Hodges said._

"_I know."_

_Sara watched Hodges and Catherine walk away, laughing at her demise. She then asked Philip, "Can I at least say goodbye?"_

"_That's up to them," Philip said, looking over at Grissom, Heather, Ava, and Connor._

_Sara got up and walked over to Grissom. "Will you let me tell my children goodbye?" she asked Grissom._

"_They're not your children anymore, Sara. They're ours," Heather answered for him._

"_Gil, please," Sara implored._

_Grissom sighed. "Connor, tell your mother goodbye."_

"_She's not my mother," Connor told Grissom. "The judge said so."_

"_Connor…"_

"_No. She left me with Michael, and she burnt my toast." Connor grabbed Heather's hand and asked, "Mom, can we please go home now?"_

"_Of course, we can, darling," Heather answered._

"_Can I push Zoë's stroller?"_

"_Of course, you can."_

_Grissom looked at Sara and shrugged. "At least he let you keep the dog."_

_As Sara watched her family leave with Lady Heather, she felt a hand tap her on the back. She turned around and saw Michael and Natalie smiling at her. _

"_It's okay, Sara," Michael told her. "You still have us."_

Sara woke with a start. She was alone in the bedroom, and neither Grissom nor Ava were beside her. "Gil," she called out, but Grissom failed to answer her. Sara rubbed her eyes and looked at the alarm clock that was next to her on the nightstand. It was 4 p.m. She should have picked Connor up from school an hour ago.

Sara jumped out of bed and was about to rummage for clean clothes when she finally noticed the note that was taped to the mirror above the dresser.

"Sara, I wanted to let you sleep, so I took Ava with me to pick up Connor. We'll be home soon. Gil," Sara said, as she read the note out loud.

"Thank God," she whispered. She sat down on the bed and tried to get her heart to stop pounding. When she had realized that she had overslept, Sara had immediately started thinking about all the bad things that could have happened to Connor while he waited for her outside the school. Now that she knew he was safely with Grissom, she could finally allow herself to breathe.

Hank, seeming to sense that something was wrong with Sara, rubbed his head against her leg. Sara reached down and petted him. "I forgot my child," Sara told Hank. "I really am a bad mother." Hank whimpered in response. Sara wasn't sure if that meant he agreed with her or if he just wanted to go out. Before Sara could discover the reason behind Hank's whimper, the phone rang.

Sara got up and retrieved the portable phone from the other nightstand. The caller ID told her it was Nick. "Hey, Nick," Sara said, answering the phone.

"Hey, Sara. Did I wake you?"

"No. I was up."

"Good, because I kind of got a problem, and I really need your help."

"Sure. What's wrong?"

"I need a ride."

"Did something happen to your truck?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what happened?"

"Let's just say that my date got up to go to the bathroom and never came back."

"That's not good."

"No, it's not, especially considering she was the one who drove us here. I'd call Greg or Warrick, but you know they'd never let me live it down, and I don't have enough cash on me for a cab. Can you come pick me up?"

"Sure. Where are you?"

"The Lucky Strike Lanes on West Flamingo."

"I know where that is. Just give me a few minutes to change clothes and brush my teeth, and I'll be there."

"Thanks, Sara. I owe you big time for this one."

"No problem, Nick. I'll see you in a few minutes."

"See you."

Sara hung up the phone and sighed. She hadn't managed to pick her son up from school. Maybe she could at least pick her friend up from a bad date without screwing it up.


	71. Chapter 71

"Did she fall for it?" Grissom asked Nick.

"Hook, line, and sinker," Nick answered.

"Good because I didn't know if she'd buy the alternative."

"And what's that?"

"That my car conveniently broke down at a bowling alley miles from our house and Connor's school, and we needed her to pick us up."

"You never know. She might have bought it. How's your sense of direction these days?'

"Better than that."

"Then I guess it's good we stuck with the bad date story."

"Here's your Coke," Connor told Grissom, as he handed him a cup and took a sip of his own drink. He sat down beside Grissom and asked, "Is Mom coming?"

"It looks like it," Grissom answered.

"Good. I hope she's wearing socks."

"I brought her a pair just in case."

"Did you bring me a pair?"

"No, you're wearing socks."

"I know, but we went bowling once with Aunt Cam and Uncle Ritchie, and Mom made me wear two pairs. She said bowling shoes are full of germs, and she didn't want my feet to rot off."

Both Grissom and Nick tried hard not to laugh at Connor's story. "Maybe she won't notice," Nick told Connor.

"She's Mom. She'll notice," Connor said, as he stared down at the bowling shoes that he was wearing on his single-socked feet. He took another sip of his drink and then sighed loudly.

"What's wrong?" Grissom asked him.

"I left Mom's present at home," Connor answered.

"I'm sure she won't mind."

"I mind. She'll think I didn't get her anything."

"Just tell her you wanted to give it to her when you got home."

"Okay," Connor said, still pouting.

"Hey, Connor, do you want to go play a video game while we wait for your mom to get here?" Nick asked Connor in an effort to cheer him up.

"No, thanks," Connor responded. "I don't want to miss saying, 'Surprise!"

"Okay, but if you change your mind, let me know."

"Okay," Connor answered. He sighed loudly again and began kicking his shoes against the bottom of the chair.

Nick, amused by Connor's dramatic nature, bit back another laugh and told Grissom, "I'm going to go help blow up the rest of the balloons. I'll let you know if Sara calls back or if anything changes."

"Thanks." Grissom looked down and frowned as Ava started fussing in her stroller.

"She's probably hungry again," Connor told Grissom. "I hope you brought a bottle."

"I did. It's in the bag." Grissom put his Coke down and lifted Ava out of her stroller. He then asked Connor, "Can you get it for me?"

"Sure," Connor answered. He got out of his chair and rummaged through Ava's diaper bag until he found the bottle. "Here," he said, handing Grissom the bottle.

Grissom frowned at the bottle. "I wonder if I'm supposed to heat it up."

"Probably. It still felt cold. Do you want me to do it?"

"If you could," Grissom answered. He handed the bottle back to Connor. As Connor got up to leave, Grissom told him, "Make one of the guys go with you."

"Why?" Connor asked. "I know where the bathroom is."

"I know, but I don't want you going in there alone."

"Why? Are you scared some crazy person is going to get me?"

"Maybe."

"Great. Now you're sounding just like Mom. Am I ever going to get to go to the bathroom alone?"

"Maybe."

"That's what Mom said, too," Connor said, rolling his eyes. He took the bottle and walked over to where Nick, Greg, and Warrick were blowing up balloons.

Grissom noticed Ava was getting fussier in his arms, so he patted her on the back in an effort to calm her. "Please don't start crying," he pleaded with his daughter.

"I won't," Doc Robbins said, as he sat down next to Grissom.

Grissom looked over at his friend and replied, "Albert, thanks for coming."

"I wouldn't miss it," Doc responded. He pointed at Ava in Grissom's arms. "Now there's something I thought I'd never see."

"I was starting to think the same thing."

"She looks like Sara."

"Yes, she does."

"Rumor has it you have another one."

"I do. You just missed him."

"That must have been a surprise."

"That, Albert, would be the understatement of the year."

"How are you handling it?"

"Carefully," Grissom answered. When Ava started to whimper, Grissom patted her on the back some more. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"No one ever does the first time, Gil," Doc told him. "Or the second time. Or the third."

"Well, that's comforting."

"Here's her bottle," Connor said, as he returned to the table. He handed Grissom the bottle and sat down.

"Connor, have you met Albert yet?"

"Nuh-uh," Connor answered.

"Connor, this is my friend, Albert Robbins. He works with your mom and me at the lab. Albert, this is Connor, my son."

"Hi," Connor told Doc.

"Hi, Connor. Nice to meet you," Doc responded.

"What do you do at the lab?" Connor asked Doc.

"I'm the coroner."

"What does a coroner do?"

"Autopsies mostly."

"Autopsies. That's cutting up dead bodies, right?"

"Right. I try to find out how they died."

"Cool. Can I watch sometime?"

"Uh, I don't think you're quite old enough for that yet."

"Great. Now you sound just like Mom, too."

* * *

"Okay, Nick. Where the heck are you?" Sara said to herself, as she pulled through the circle driveway of the Rio All-Suite Hotel and Casino. The Lucky Strike Lanes were inside the hotel, and apparently so, too, was Nick. Sara didn't see him standing outside the hotel's front door.

Sara reached for her phone and dialed Nick's number. "Come on, Nick. Answer the phone."

After several rings, Nick's phone went to voice mail. Sara left a message for him to come outside and continued to wait for him in the driveway. After a few minutes, the hotel doorman knocked on her window.

"Great. Just great," Sara mumbled, as she rolled down the window.

"Can I help you?" the doorman asked Sara.

"No, I'm just waiting on someone," Sara answered. "Apparently, he's taking his sweet time getting out here."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I'm going to have to ask you to move."

"But I'll only be a few more minutes. My friend should be right out."

"I'm understand, ma'am, but you can't park here. You're tying up traffic."

Sara glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the cars behind her. Silently cursing Nick's tardiness, she asked the doorman, "So what are my choices?"

"We offer valet parking, or you can park your car yourself in the hotel's parking garage."

Sara, remembering how her last trip to a parking garage ended, said, "Valet it is."


	72. Chapter 72

"There you are," Sara commented, when she saw Nick standing just inside the entrance of the Lucky Strike Lanes.

"Here I am," Nick replied.

"Why weren't you waiting out front?"

"I was in the bathroom."

"I called to tell you that I was out there."

"I know."

"You know? Was there a reason you couldn't answer the phone?"

"Yeah. I was in the bathroom."

"What, does your phone not work in the bathroom?"

"No, it works."

"Then why couldn't you answer it?"

"Because I was in the bathroom."

"And?"

"And I'm a guy. Guys don't answer their phones in the bathroom, Sara."

"They don't?"

"No. They also don't go in groups to the bathroom or chit-chat with the person next to them while relieving themselves." Nick expected Sara to laugh at the comment, but instead all he got from her was crossed arms and the evil eye. "Okay, Sare, what's wrong?"

"I had to park the car."

"So?"

"So did you happen to notice the parking garage out back?"

Nick, realizing the real reason Sara was so mad, tried to apologize. "Oh God, Sara. I'm sorry. I didn't even think."

"Don't worry about it. I used valet. Guess who's paying for that?"

"Me?"

"Ding, ding, ding. Now please tell me you're ready to go."

"I can't."

"Why not?" Sara asked. Nick pointed down at his bowling shoes. "Nick, why are you still wearing your bowling shoes?"

"You know how I said I didn't have enough cash on me to get a cab?"

"Yeah."

"Well, apparently I don't have enough cash on me to get my shoes out of hock either. Do you think you could help me out with that?"

"Jeez, Nick. First I'm your cab. Now I'm your ATM machine."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry. I swear I'll pay you back."

"Fine. I'll get your shoes back. Just lead the way," Sara said. As she followed Nick further inside the bowling alley, she asked, "Shouldn't a place like this take credit or debit?"

Nick stopped in front of the dining area and started to answer Sara's question. "They should, but…"

"But what?" Sara asked. She stopped beside Nick and looked out at the dining area.

Before she could register that her husband, children, and coworkers were standing before her amidst birthday cake, presents, and balloons, they yelled, "Surprise!"

Sara turned to look at Nick. He smiled at her and said, "Happy birthday, Sara."

* * *

"I told you no one forgot," Greg said, as he sat down next to Sara.

Sara, who had been playing with the icing on her birthday cake, put her fork down, looked over at Greg, and smiled. "That you did. Thanks for all of this."

"You're welcome. You know, I'm not the only one you should thank."

"I know, Greg. I intend on thanking everyone."

"I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't trying to point out the obvious. What I meant to say was look around; you-know-who was obviously wrong." Sara shrugged and started picking at her cake again. Greg frowned at Sara's tristful demeanor and asked, "Is the cake okay?"

Sara put her fork down again. "Yeah, it's fine."

"Would you have rather had chocolate icing?"

"No, vanilla's fine." When Greg raised his eyebrows in response, Sara said, "Seriously, Greg, the cake's fine. In fact, it's perfect."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing. Everything's fine."

"It doesn't look fine. In fact, it looks like you're forgetting the happy part of 'happy birthday.'"

"I'm not. I'm just tired, that's all."

"Tired, or still thinking about what you-know-who said?"

"Her name's Catherine, Greg. Calling her you-know-who doesn't make her any more forgettable."

"Sorry. Is she why you're all dark and gloomy?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? Like I said, Sara, look around. We obviously want you here."

"That wasn't the part I was thinking about," Sara admitted, as she looked over at Connor, Ava, and Grissom. Connor had finally taken Nick up on his offer of a video game and wanted Grissom to watch him. Grissom had offered to take Ava with them so she could use both hands to eat.

"Oh. You were thinking about the other part, the bad mother and wife part."

"That would be the one."

"Catherine was wrong about us. She was wrong about that, too."

"Maybe."

"No maybes, Sara. Definitely. She was definitely wrong." Greg, noticing the diamond ring that now adorned Sara's left ring finger, pointed to it and stated, "Obviously, I'm not the only one who thinks so."

"Oh, that," Sara said, looking down at her hand.

"Yeah, that. Is it new?"

"Sort of."

"How can be it sort of new?"

"Grissom just gave it to me."

"It looks like an engagement ring."

"It is."

"But you're already married."

"I know."

"Isn't that kind of out of order?"

"Kind of. Grissom said he bought it when he went on sabbatical last year."

"Why didn't he give it to you when he got back?"

"He said he chickened out."

"So what has he been doing, hiding it in his underwear drawer this entire time?"

"Not exactly. Supposedly, it's been in a cocoon."

"Supposedly? What, do you not believe him?"

"I want to."

"Then do."

"It's not that simple, Greg."

"Then make it that simple." When Sara continued to frown, Greg grabbed her left hand, held it up to the light, and tried to lighten her mood. "Will you look at that rock," he mocked. "Look how it catches the light."

Sara jerked her hand back. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm just trying to be supportive. That's what girlfriends do, right? Fawn all over the ring?"

"But you're not my girlfriend."

"True, but since you and you-know-who--I mean Catherine--aren't speaking at the moment, I thought I'd fill in."

"That won't be necessary, Greg."

"Do you want me to go get Ronnie? She can fawn all over the ring."

"That won't be necessary either."

"Oh, come on. The two of you can buy some bridal magazines and pick out wedding dresses together. You can even stick her with a hideous bridesmaid dress."

"I'm already married, Greg."

"I realize that, Sara, and it's about time you do, too. Grissom chose you. You, Sara, not Lady Heather. If he wanted out, he could have gotten out at any time within the last 10 months. All it would have taken was a phone call to a good divorce lawyer, but he didn't do that. He chose to stay, and granted, it took him a little longer than it should have to go after you, but you've got to remember, this is Grissom we're talking about here. Isn't he always saying to go fast you sometimes have to go slow?"

Sara sighed. "Yes," she admitted.

"So he went slow this time, maybe a little too slow for your liking, but at least he finally found his way back home to you."

"I guess you're right."

"I know I'm right. Now cheer up already. I plan on beating Hodges at bowling, and I can't very well do that and play cheerleader all at the same time. Or maybe I can. I could do a cheer each time he goes to bowl. Ra, ra, ree, kick Hodges in the knee. Ra, ra, rass, kick Hodges in the--" Sara's laughter cut off the end of Greg's cheer. "That was funny, Sara, but I don't think it was that funny."

"It wasn't," Sara said, laughing harder.

"So then what gives?"

"I just pictured you in a cheerleading skirt holding a pair of pompoms."

"Ooh, kinky. Is that what you're into? Because if it is, I think I saw a costume shop down the street. We could get out of here, pick up a costume, and go celebrate your birthday in style."

"I thought you were just rooting for Grissom."

"I was. We can let him watch."

Sara laughed at the suggestion. "Greg, I have definitely missed you."

"Ditto, Sara. Ditto."

* * *

After cake, the party split into two teams, the field investigators versus the lab rats, the former getting custody of Brass, Sofia, and Connor, the latter, Doc and David. Midway through the game, Grissom leaned over and whispered in Sara's ear, "It looks like we have a visitor."

"Huh?" Sara asked, not knowing who her husband was talking about at first.

Grissom pointed towards the entrance of the bowling alley. Sara looked in that direction and saw Catherine walking towards them.

"Great," Sara muttered. "Now she's going to ruin my party as well."

"Maybe not. You should go talk to her."

Sara stood up and said, "I guess I should. Better to have it out with her over there than here in front of everyone."

"Maybe it won't be that bad. Maybe Catherine will surprise you."

"And maybe pigs will fly, too."

"They already do. Did you know that in 1909, Great Britain's Lord Brabazon made the first live air cargo flight by putting a pig in a basket and tying it to the wing-strut of his airplane, thus proving that pigs can, in fact, fly?"

"No, but I do now. Maybe I should have said 'maybe pigs will sprout wings and fly, too.'"

"Well, that one's going to be a little bit harder."

"Just a little. If I'm not back in five minutes, you might want to send out a search party."

"Duly noted."

Sara walked over to Catherine and crossed her arms in front of her. "Catherine," she said to her coworker.

"Hey, Sara," Catherine greeted her. She looked over at the people bowling and then back at Sara. "I, um, I don't want to interrupt your party. I just wanted to come by and apologize for my outburst earlier."

"Outburst, huh? That's one way to describe it."

"Okay. It was more like a verbal assault, and I'm sorry. It should have never happened."

Sara shrugged. "You said what you felt."

"No, I didn't. I wasn't mad at you, Sara. I was mad at Ecklie, but I couldn't yell at him, not if wanted to keep my job, so I took my anger out on you instead, and I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it."

"Are you sure you didn't mean it? Because you were pretty convincing when you said that I was a bad mother and that no one wanted me here."

"I know, and I'm sorry. If I had known it was your birthday--"

"You would have what? Waited until tomorrow to yell at me?"

"No, I wouldn't have said it at all."

"But you would have thought it?"

"No. I wouldn't have. Why didn't you tell me about Michael?"

"I was going to; I just didn't get a chance. In retrospect, I guess it's a good thing that I didn't. You would have just thrown him in my face, too, told me that I was playing the abusive ex-boyfriend card to get away with abandoning my son. So who told you, Grissom or Warrick?

"Neither. Greg told me."

"Of course he did. He doesn't quite grasp the concept of shutting up."

"Look, Sara. Greg wasn't breaking any confidences. He was just trying to defend your actions."

"Well, he shouldn't. They're not defendable."

"I'm sure you did what you thought you had to do at the time."

"So did my mother. It didn't make what she did any less reprehensible. It doesn't make what I did any less reprehensible either. I'm sure your friends at social services would agree."

"Sara, I wasn't going to call them."

"It seemed like you were to me."

"I know, and again I'm sorry. I don't know what else you want me to say."

Sara stared off into the distance as she answered Catherine. "I want you to tell me that you know what it's like to have your whole world change in the blink of an eye. I want you to tell me that you know what it's like to be 12-years-old and to have everything you know, everything that makes you feel secure--the worn out floral couch in your living room, the Holly Hobby bedspread in your bedroom, your mother singing you to sleep, your father helping you with your homework, your 16-year-old brother playing hide-and-seek with you even though he's too old--taken away from you. I want you to tell me that you know what it's like to wake up night after night in a house you don't know with people you don't know and find out it wasn't all a bad dream; it's your life, and there's nothing you can do about it but wait for it to be over."

"I can't do that, Sara."

Sara stopped and looked Catherine in the eye. "No, you can't. If you could, you would have never wished that kind of hell on my children."

"I wasn't going to call social services."

"So you say. You know I could almost forgive you, Catherine, if you had just kept your attack aimed at me, but you didn't. You went after my kids, and I don't know if I can ever forgive you for that."

Catherine started to protest, "Sara, please. If you'd just--," but was interrupted by Connor.

"Mom, are you coming?" Connor asked, as he ran up to Catherine and Sara.

"Yeah, I'll be right there," Sara answered him.

"But it's your turn. Everyone's waiting."

"I know, but I'm talking to someone."

"I see that. Hey, Catherine," Connor said, acknowledging Catherine's presence.

"Hey, Connor," Catherine replied.

"Can't you and Mom talk down there?" Connor asked, pointing in the direction of the bowling lanes they had reserved. "You can be on our team."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Connor," Sara answered for Catherine.

"Why not?"

"Because I can't stay," Catherine responded.

"Why not?"

"I, um, made other plans before I knew about the party."

"Can't you cancel them?"

Catherine looked at the pained expression on Sara's face and answered, "Unfortunately not."

"Too bad. We're having fun, at least we were until you and Mom decided to hold up the line"

"Connor, stop being rude," Sara scolded.

"It's okay," Catherine stated. "I should get going anyway. I have those, uh, plans that I couldn't cancel."

"Yeah. I wouldn't want to keep you from those. I'll see you at work later."

"Yeah, I'll see you." Catherine looked down at Connor and said, "Bye, Connor. Take care of your mom for me, okay?"

"I will."

"And happy birthday, Sara. I'm sorry it wasn't as happy as it could be."

As Sara watched Catherine walk away, she thought about her apology. She wanted to accept it. She wanted things between them to return to the way they were, but she didn't know if they ever could. Before Sara could fathom just what it would take for her to be able to accept Catherine's apology, she felt Connor tugging on her arm.

"Mom, come on," he pleaded with her.

Sara looked down at her son and said, "I'm coming."

* * *

"What did Catherine want?" Warrick asked Sara, after she took her turn at bowling.

"She wanted to apologize for what happened earlier."

"Did you accept her apology?"

"Not entirely. You know, she seemed a little upset when she left. You should probably go after her."

"Nah, I can't, not after what she did to you."

"Yeah, but that's between me and Catherine, Warrick. It doesn't have to be between the two of you."

Warrick shrugged in response. "Maybe," he said.

"No maybes. Look, I'm not going to ask you if the two of you have said the L-word yet. Right now, given how I feel about Catherine, I'm not even sure I want to know, but I will ask you this. Do you care about her?"

"Yes."

"Does she care about you?"

"I guess."

"Then go after her."

"I don't know, Sara. We got into a fight earlier. I doubt she wants me to go after her."

"Take it from someone who knows, Warrick. She wants you to." Sara looked over at Grissom and Connor and admitted, "We always want you to, even when we say we don't."

Warrick followed Sara's gaze and realized she could have a point. "I'll think about it," he told Sara. "But right now, it's your birthday, and I'm not going anywhere."

"It's okay if you change your mind."

"No, it's not, if for no other reason than if I leave, the team forfeits the game, and the lab rats win by default. Do you really want to hear Hodges gloat for the next week?"

Sara looked over at Hodges kissing his bowling ball for good luck and shuddered. "Uh, no," she answered.

"Neither do I. I'm staying. End of discussion."

* * *

"CSI Willows, fancy meeting you here."

Catherine inwardly groaned. She recognized the voice behind her. She had gone to the Eclipse to escape. She didn't want to see anyone associated with work; she just wanted to forget for awhile. Given her track record for the last 24 hours, she should have known she wouldn't be that lucky. Catherine took a big sip of her Cosmopolitan. If the person behind her didn't go away soon, she was going to need all the alcohol she could get. When she heard the person sit down on the bar stool beside her, she looked over and said, "Adam Novak. What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, I suppose. I wanted to wind down after work."

"I haven't been to work yet."

Adam looked at his watch. "Yeah, I suppose you haven't. I didn't think that dress looked like something you'd wear to a crime scene, although I'm sure your coworkers wouldn't mind if you did."

"Apparently, some of them would."

"Well, apparently, they need to get their eyes examined." Catherine shrugged and took another sip of her drink. "So what are you doing here?" Adam asked her.

"I'm celebrating my friend's birthday."

"Oh, which one?"

"Sara Sidle. Sorry. I mean Sara Grissom," Catherine said, rolling her eyes and taking another swig of her Cosmopolitan.

"Sara. She's the brunette, right?"

"Right."

Adam looked past Catherine and saw that the next bar stool over was empty. "So where is she? Did she go to the lady's room or something?"

"Or something," Catherine said before finishing off the drink. "She's at her birthday party."

"Why aren't you there?"

"Because I wasn't exactly invited."

"Oh. Well, I guess that explains the earlier eye roll and why you just inhaled that drink."

"Yes, it does."

"Would you like another one?"

Catherine turned to look at Adam. "I'd love one."

* * *

"Well, you obviously fixed the game," Hodges complained. The lab rats had lost the game, and he wasn't happy about it.

"You can't fix bowling, Hodges," Nick told him.

"This is Vegas, Nick You can fix anything. What did you do, pay off the manager so your little girlfriend would keep getting strikes?"

"For the last time, Hodges, Sara is not my girlfriend."

"You're just saying that because the boss is within earshot."

"No, I'm saying that because it's true. And to answer your question, no, I didn't pay off the manager."

"Then how did you do it?"

"I didn't do anything. Sara's just good at bowling."

"Uh-huh. Mark my words, Nick. I will figure this out."

"You do that, Hodges."

When Hodges stomped off, Sara walked up to Nick. "What's his problem?" Sara asked.

"Right now?" Nick questioned. Sara nodded. "He's a sore loser."

"I assume he's not taking it well that we won."

"Not in the slightest. He thinks I fixed it so we'd win."

"How do you fix bowling?"

"You've got me, but he assures me he's going to find out."

"Of course he is. He's starting to get predictable. You, on the other hand, a bad date?"

Nick laughed. "Hey, you fell for it."

"Yes, I did, but in my own defense, I'm a little sleep deprived."

"Sure, blame the post traumatic stress and the five-month-old. Admit it. Sleep deprived or not, you didn't have a clue."

"Okay, you're right. I didn't, but the next time you call and tell me your date has left you stranded, don't be surprised if I take my sweet time picking you up."

"Oh, there won't be a next time. No one leaves Nick Stokes stranded on a date."

"Sure they don't, Nick," Warrick said, as he walked over to them. "Sure they don't." Warrick turned to Sara. "I'm going to take your advice and get out of here."

"Good. I hope everything works out for you."

"Me, too. I'll see you two later tonight."

"Yeah, we'll see you," Nick responded. After Warrick left, Nick turned to Sara and asked, "What advice did you give him?"

"To go after what he wants."

"You mean Catherine?"

Sara nodded. "Unless Halle Berry is suddenly available."

"After everything she said to you?"

"Yes, after everything she said. That's my problem, not Warrick's."

"What's your problem?" Connor asked, as he, Grissom, and Ava joined Nick and Sara.

"Nothing important, honey," Sara answered Connor. When Ava reached for her, Sara took her daughter from Grissom's arms. She asked Grissom, "Did you change her diaper that quickly?"

"Yes," Grissom answered.

"You're getting scarily good at that."

"I've got it down to a science."

"Of course you do." Sara turned back to Nick. "On that note, we should probably be leaving, too. Someone has homework he still needs to do."

"Aw, Mom," Connor whined.

"Aw, Mom," Sara whined back. "You're doing it. Then you're getting a bath and going to bed. Thanks for the party, Nick."

"You're welcome, Sara."

"You still owe for me valet."

"I figured as much."

* * *

Warrick knocked on Catherine's front door. He still hadn't figured out what he was going to say to her. He just hoped something brilliant would come to him when she opened the door. Catherine, however, didn't open the door; Lindsey did.

"Hey, Warrick," Lindsey greeted him.

"Hey, Lins. Is your Mom here?"

"No, sorry."

"Do you know where she went?"

"Yeah. She called and said she was stopping by Grandpa's hotel before she came home."

"Do you know how long ago that was?"

"An hour ago. Maybe two."

"Did she say how long she'd be?"

"Nope."

"I guess I'll go see if I can catch her there. If she makes it back here before I do, can you let her know I'm looking for her?"

"Sure thing."


	73. Chapter 73

"Were you really surprised?" Grissom asked Sara, as she sat down next to him on the couch. They had just returned home from the birthday party. Ava and Connor were both upstairs. Ava was sleeping, while Connor was doing his homework.

"Yes, I was," Sara answered. She retrieved the remote from the coffee table and began flipping through the channels in an effort to find something to watch.

"I wasn't sure if you would believe Nick's story."

"I shouldn't have, but I did. What were you going to do if I didn't?"

"Go to Plan B."

"And what was that?"

"I'm not really sure. Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Even though Catherine showed up?"

"Even though Catherine showed up."

"What did she want, if you don't mind me asking?"

"To apologize."

"How did that go?"

"It…uh…it went."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Fair enough. You know, there's something else I've been wanting to give you all afternoon."

"Really? What's that?"

"This," Grissom said. He leaned over and kissed Sara, as Connor came into the room.

"Ooh. Yuck!" Connor exclaimed at the sight of his parents kissing.

"The kid's got incredible timing," Grissom said, leaning back on the sofa.

"You're not kidding," Sara replied. She looked over at Connor. "We've only been home ten minutes. You can't possibly be done with your homework."

"I'm not."

"Well, there's no TV until you are."

"I know, but I wanted to give you these," Connor explained, showing Sara the bag he was hiding behind his back.

"What's that?" Sara asked.

"The rest of your birthday presents." Connor put the bag on the coffee table and pulled out three gift wrapped boxes. "One's from me, one's from Uncle Ritchie and Aunt Cam, and one's from Cindy and Mindy," he explained as he put the boxes in his mother's lap.

Sara looked down at the boxes and then up at Connor. "You didn't have to get me anything," she told Connor.

"Yes, I did," he responded. "It's your birthday, and I never got to get you anything before."

Grissom watched Sara frown at their son's comment. He knew what she was thinking; it was her fault that Connor hadn't been able to get her a gift before now. He reached over and took her left hand with his right and squeezed it. She looked at him and smiled sadly.

"Open mine first," Connor implored.

Sara turned her attention back to Connor. "Which one's yours?" Sara asked her son.

"This one," Connor said, handing Sara the small box that had been wrapped with Star Wars paper.

"I should have known," she told him. Sara tore the wrapping paper off of Connor's gift. She then opened the small box and pulled out the silver heart key chain inside.

"It's a key chain," Connor said.

"I see that."

"Look what it says."

Sara read the inscription out loud, "Best mom ever."

"It's so you don't forget."

Sara took a deep breath and looked at Connor. She didn't want to tell him that she couldn't forget something that she never even knew was true, so instead she smiled at him and said, "Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome. Do you want me to get your keys so you can put them on it?"

"Please."

While Connor retrieved her keys, Sara allowed the smile to disappear from her face. Grissom, observing the change in Sara's countenance, squeezed her hand again. "You should listen to him," Grissom told her. "The kid knows what he's talking about."

Sara shook her head as she fingered the key chain. "No, he doesn't."

Before Grissom could disagree, Connor returned with his mother's keys. "Here they are," Connor told Sara, handing her the keys.

Sara put the keys on the key ring and held it up for Connor to see. "What do you think?" she asked him.

"It looks good." He picked another gift out of Sara's lap and handed it to her. "Open Uncle Ritchie and Aunt Cam's next."

Sara opened the second box and pulled out the necklace that lay inside.

"It's a locket, Mom, see," Connor said, as he opened the small, round, silver medallion that hung from the black leather cord. "Look. Mine and Ava's pictures are in it."

"I see that."

"I hope you like it. Aunt Cam made Uncle Ritchie take the first one he bought back. She said it looked like something an old lady would wear."

"I'm sure it was nice."

"It was for a grandma. Look. Uncle Ritchie had them subscribe it," Connor told Sara, flipping the medallion over.

"You mean inscribe it?" Grissom asked.

"Inscribe it. That's what I said. Read it," Connor directed his mother.

Sara read the inscription., "So they'll always be with you."

Grissom saw Sara tearing up and squeezed her hand again. "Do you want me to put it on you?" he asked her.

"Sure," Sara answered. She handed Grissom the necklace and lifted up her hair so that it wouldn't get tangled in the latch. Once Grissom was through latching the locket, Sara let go of her hair and asked Connor and Grissom, "So how do I look?"

"Very pretty," Connor answered.

"I agree," Grissom said.

"Don't forget Cindy and Mindy's present," Connor told her, as he pointed at the remaining box in her lap.

"I'm not," Sara said. She opened the box and held up the item inside without thinking.

"What's that supposed to be?" Connor asked, pointing at the red lingerie in his mother's hands.

Sara looked down, realized what she was holding up in front of her son, and dropped the items back in the box. "It's a…um…baby doll," Sara explained.

"A baby doll?" Connor asked. "It doesn't look like a doll. It doesn't even have a head."

"You're right. It doesn't," Sara admitted, her face turning a shade of red that matched the lingerie. "It's not that kind of baby doll. It's kind of like…uh…pajamas. Really, really small pajamas."

"Yeah, but pajamas are comfortable. That doesn't look very comfortable."

"No, it doesn't."

"Won't you get cold?"

"Probably. I guess that's why it comes with a robe."

"But it's a really small robe. Ava could probably wear it."

"You're right. She probably could."

"So why did they give it to you?"

"I don't know. I guess they thought I needed it."

"But that's dumb. You've already got pajamas that fit and don't make you cold."

"You're right yet again."

"Is there anything else in the box?"

"I don't know. I didn't look," Sara told Connor. She then said under her breath, "I'm almost scared to look." She lifted the lingerie and saw that there was, in fact, more in the box. She picked the bottle up and read it.

"What is it?" Connor asked.

"It's, um, massage oil," Sara admitted.

"Why would they give you that?"

"I guess they thought I needed a massage to relax."

"Well, who's going to give you one?"

"I…um…" Sara said, scared of where the conversation was going.

"I will," Grissom answered for her.

"Oh." Connor looked closer at the bottle. "Why is it strawberry flavored?"

Sara started to stammer, so again Grissom answered for her. "It's in case you forget to wash your hands afterwards. That way, your hands will taste like strawberries, not oil."

Connor thought about Grissom's explanation for a minute and then answered, "Oh. I guess that makes sense. I still like my present better."

"So do I," Sara replied.

"I guess I have to go do my homework now."

"Yes, you do."

"All right. I'm going. I'm going," Connor said, as he headed upstairs.

Once Connor was out of hearing range, Sara turned to Grissom and said, "Thanks for the save."

Grissom laughed and said, "Thanks for the birthday present."

Confused, Sara said, "But your birthday was last month. I didn't get you anything."

Grissom held up the lingerie. "I think you just did."

* * *

"Hey, Charlie, what's up?" Warrick asked the bartender at the Eclipse.

"Warrick Brown, long time, no see," Charlie responded.

"I know. I haven't been in in awhile."

"I take it work has been keeping you busy."

"You could say that."

"Uh-huh," Charlie said. He laughed, as he thought about the something or someone that had also been keeping Warrick busy.

"Hey, don't blame me. Blame the criminals."

"I will," Charlie said, putting down the wine glass that he had been drying. "So can I get you anything?"

"Just the boss. Have you seen her?" Warrick asked.

"Yeah. You just missed her."

"Man, that's the second time tonight. By any chance do you know where she was going?"

"She said something about going upstairs."

"She must be stopping by Lily's. I guess I'll try to catch her up there. See you around, Charlie."

"Yeah, see you." Charlie watched Warrick walk away and wondered whether he should have told him that Catherine hadn't gone up to Lily's alone.

* * *

Warrick got off the elevator and started walking towards Penthouse 1. He still hadn't thought of anything brilliant to say to Catherine when he saw her, so he figured that he would just have to settle for telling her, "I'm here." It was simple, but If Sara was right, that was all Catherine wanted to hear anyway.

As Warrick rounded the corner, he saw that someone else had beat him to it: Adam Novak.

Warrick turned around and got back in the elevator. On the ride back down, Warrick could not get the image out of his head. Catherine with her arms around Adam Novak's neck. Catherine laughing at something Adam said. Adam kissing Catherine. Catherine kissing him back. Catherine opening the penthouse door. Adam following Catherine inside.

The air inside the elevator, which had been cool on the way up, was now hot and suffocating. Warrick wanted out, but the elevator wasn't moving fast enough. He punched one of the elevator's metal walls and winced when the wall failed to give way to his knuckles. Holding that hand with the other, he leaned his head against the wall and thought, this time was supposed to be different. Catherine was supposed to be different. She wasn't supposed to be like Tina.

When the doors to the elevator finally opened, Warrick saw Lily staring at him in the lobby.

"Warrick, what happened to your hand?" Lily asked.

Warrick looked down at the blood on his knuckles and muttered, "Nothing. It's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing. It looks like it hurts. Come on up. I'll get you some bandages."

"I, uh, I can't," Warrick said, pushing past Lily. "I'm sorry, Lily. I have to go."

Lily, confused by Warrick's abruptness, asked herself, "What on earth?"

* * *

"So what do you think?" Catherine asked Adam Novak, her speech noticeably slurred. She twirled around her mother's living room with her arms out, stumbled, and fell into Adam's arms.

Adam helped Catherine right herself and said, "I think you're drunk."

"Not about me. About this place."

Adam looked around the living room of the penthouse. "It's nice."

"Just nice? My father's turning over in his grave as we speak."

"Okay then. It's spectacular. Happy now?"

"No, but Sam would be. This place was his baby."

"I would have thought that title belonged to you."

Catherine laughed at the comment, as she picked up the picture of Sam and her mother from the end table next to the sofa. "Only when it was convenient for Sam, and it rarely ever was. Not that I made it easy for him. Not that I make it easy for anyone."

"I would agree with that. Our last encounter at a bar didn't end quite this cordial."

"Yeah, I guess it didn't," Catherine replied, returning the picture to the end table.

"So do I get a tour of the rest of the place?"

"What do you want to see first?"

"How about the bedroom?"

Before Catherine could respond, Lily, who had just come in, answered for her. "That room's off limits. So is my daughter."

"Mom, what are you doing here?" Catherine asked, her slurred speech turning into a teenage whine.

"I live here, remember?"

"Why aren't you with Lindsey?"

"Why aren't you?"

"I needed a drink."

"A drink or the whole bar?"

"Mom, don't start. You of all people have no right to lecture me about drinking."

"Maybe, but seeing as this is my home, I do have a right to ask you what he's doing here," Lily said, motioning at Adam.

Adam stepped forward and extended his right hand to Lily. "Ms. Flynn, I'm not sure if you remember me. I'm Adam Novak. We met a few years ago."

Lily looked down at Adam's hand but didn't shake it. "I remember you," she told Adam. She then turned to her daughter and said, "I also remember Warrick Brown. In fact, I just ran into him in the lobby. He didn't look too happy, and now I know why."

"Warrick was here?" Catherine asked.

Lily nodded. "So you do remember him."

Catherine sat down on the couch, put her head in her hands, and said, "Crap."

"Crap, indeed," Lily commented. She turned back to Adam and said, "That would be your cue to leave."

"Is that what you want?" Adam asked Catherine.

Catherine, turning green, stood up from the sofa and put her hand over her mouth. "What I want is to throw up," she mumbled before running for the kitchen.

Over sounds of Catherine retching, Lily told Adam, "I think you got your answer."

* * *

"Sara, can I come in?" Grissom asked from the other side of the bathroom door. Sara had excused herself an hour earlier to take a bath, and she still hadn't come out of the bathroom. At the time, Grissom could tell that something was bothering her. He had hoped that she was just embarrassed over the lingerie, but given the fact that she was still in the tub, he expected that the something had to do with the other two gifts.

"Sure. It's your house, too," Sara answered.

Grissom opened the door, walked over to the tub, sat on its side, and looked at Sara. Her eyes were red, and Grissom doubted it was from the bubble bath. He dipped a finger in the water and, finding it cold, told Sara, "It's freezing."

"I know," Sara admitted.

"So why are you still in it?"

Sara shrugged and looked at the wall rather than at Grissom. "I just didn't feel like getting out."

"Why not?"

"I was still thinking."

"About what?"

"About Connor's gift. 'Best mom ever.' What a joke."

"He didn't think it was."

"He will when he's older."

"I doubt it."

"I don't." Sara picked up her body poof and twirled the rope hook around her finger. "I had a dream earlier before the party," she told Grissom.

"A good one?"

Sara twisted the rope tighter. "I guess it's according to who you ask." Grissom frowned when he saw Sara's finger turn purple and took the poof from her. Sara sighed and looked at Grissom. "It wasn't for me."

"What happened in it?"

Sara went back to looking at the wall. "The court terminated my parental rights and gave you and Heather sole custody of the kids. You changed Ava's name to Zoë, and then Connor told me that I wasn't his mother anymore."

"Sara, that's never going to happen."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"Connor blamed me for leaving him with Michael."

"It was just a dream."

"Was it?"

Now it was Grissom's turn to sigh. "Sara, you've got to stop this."

"Stop what, telling the truth?"

"No, beating yourself up over things that happened in the past."

"Someone has to."

"No, they don't."

"I think your good friend Catherine would disagree."

"I thought she apologized."

"She did, but saying you're sorry and actually being sorry are two different things."

"I'm sure she was sorry."

"I'm not. It doesn't really matter anyway. She was right. I'm a bad mother, and all the key chains in the world aren't going to change that fact."

Grissom got up from the side of the tub and retrieved a towel from the cabinet. He then held it open for Sara. "Come on. You've been in the tub long enough. I think the cold water has finally gone to your brain." Sara begrudgingly stood up and let Grissom wrap the towel around her. "You know, William Blake once said that it's easier to forgive an enemy than it is to forgive a friend," Grissom told her.

Sara looked at him and asked, "Really? So what did he say about forgiving yourself?"

Grissom didn't have an answer for that.


	74. Chapter 74

"Here. Drink this," Lily said, handing Catherine the refilled coffee mug.

Catherine pushed the mug away. "I can't take another sip."

"Well, you can't go to work drunk either, so drink."

"Mom, coffee won't sober someone up. That's just a myth."

"Then what will?"

"Time."

"Well that's not something you have a lot of. Your shift starts in a few hours."

"Do you think I don't know that?"

"I don't know what to think at the moment. Do you want to tell me what this is all about?" Lily asked, as she sat across from Catherine.

Catherine shrugged. She picked back up the picture of Sam and Lily that she had been holding earlier. "Do you ever think about what our lives would have been like if Sam had married you when he found out that you were pregnant with me?"

Lily took the photo from Catherine's hand. "Is that what this is about, your father?"

Catherine got up from the sofa, walked over to the window, and looked out at the strip. "No. Maybe."

Lily looked down at the photo and answered Catherine. "I used to. Now I'm just grateful for the time we did have together."

"I wish I could be." Catherine turned around and faced Lily. "I got a promotion today."

"That's wonderful, honey."

"I'm now officially co-supervisor of graveyard."

"Co-supervisor? Who's the other supervisor?"

"Gil."

"I thought he had left for parts unknown."

"He had, but now he's back. So is Sara."

"But that's a good thing, right?"

Catherine shrugged again. "We have to share everything. The title. The office. The responsibility. Everything."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Maybe I don't want to share."

"Catherine…"

"I've earned the right to be supervisor, Mom, not co-supervisor."

"I'm sure you have."

"I got angry about it. I said some things I shouldn't have."

"Oh, Catherine. Please tell me you didn't say something that got you into trouble with Conrad Ecklie."

"No, I'm not that stupid. I said something that got me into trouble with Gil instead."

"What did you do?"

"I went after Sara. I accused her of being a bad mother."

"Right. She and Gil have a baby now. I'd forgotten."

"Not just a baby. They have a nearly nine-year-old son, too."

"What?"

"Yeah, it seems Sara's been keeping a mighty big secret from all of us the last eight years, and I laid into her for it."

"Why would you do that? I thought Sara was your friend."

"She is, or at least she was before I opened my big, fat mouth. I don't know, Mom. I just felt like lashing out at someone, and Sara was an easy target. I told her that no one wanted her here and that Gil, the team, and the kids would all be better off if she just disappeared again."

"Catherine…"

"I know. I know, but it gets better. I also threatened to turn her into social services for abandoning Connor."

"I take it Connor is the nine-year-old son?"

"Yes, he is."

"That must have gone over well."

"You have no idea. Did I ever tell you that Sara spent time in the system?"

"No."

"Well, she did. She was placed in foster care when she was twelve-years-old."

"Do you know why?"

"Yeah, her mother murdered her father right in front of her. I managed to throw that in her face as well. I accused her of playing the dead father card every time she needed an excuse for her actions."

"Catherine…"

"I know. I know. I'm a horrible person, but I haven't even told you the best part. Today is Sara's birthday, and I pretty much ruined it for her. I tried to apologize, but she wasn't hearing it. Neither was Warrick."

"Can you blame them?"

"Not really, so I came here to a have a drink and forget."

"And how does Adam Novak fit into all of this?"

"I guess he was just another way to forget." Catherine sat back down on the sofa and rested her head in her hands. "I screwed everything up."

Lily got up and sat next to Catherine. She put her arm around Catherine's shoulders. "So what are you going to do to unscrew it?"

Catherine leaned into her mother. "I have no idea."

* * *

Grissom sat on the bed and watched Sara get ready for work. She hadn't smiled once since she got out of the tub, and it was starting to worry him. He wanted to talk to her about it and about a possible solution, but he wasn't sure how to broach either subject without further upsetting her. He looked at his watch. Their shift would be starting soon. If he wanted to talk to her about those things, he would have to do it now.

"Sara," Grissom said in an effort to get her attention.

"Yeah?" Sara questioned, as she dug in her jewelry box for the match to the earring she now held in her hand.

"You said the other day that you were seeing a counselor."

Sara, finding the earring, straightened up and faced the mirror that hung over the dresser. She put the earrings in her ears as she answered Grissom. "I am. Dr. Young. She's the same P.E.A.P. counselor I saw a few years ago after I told you about my parents."

"Oh. Has she…um…has she said anything to you about anti-depressants?"

Sara stopped fiddling with her earrings and turned around to face Grissom. "Wow. You've only been back three days, and already you want me medicated. What's next? A padded room with a view by the end of the week?"

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just…you seem so…I don't know…sad. I thought maybe they could help."

Sara crossed her arms and glared at Grissom. "And how exactly are anti-depressants going to help me?" she asked him.

"Well, for starters, they would regulate your serotonin levels."

"My serotonin levels?" Sara questioned, shaking her head. "Of course, because all of my problems are connected to my serotonin levels. Tell me, Gil. What will regulating my serotonin levels change? Will it change what Michael and Natalie did to me? Will it change what I did to you and Connor? Will it change what I couldn't do for my father? Tell me because I really want to know."

"It might make you feel better."

"Or it might send me plummeting down the rabbit hole."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I don't want to take them, okay? I don't want to take any pills. I don't want to be…medicated. I just don't."

"I'm sorry. I just thought…"

"You just thought what? That if I'd just take a happy pill, all of our troubles would go away?"

"Something like that."

"Well, they won't. Take it from someone who knows. I watched my mother take quite a few of those happy pills, and they didn't change anything. My father still died. My mother still went to prison, and I still ended up alone. I'm not taking any pills. End of discussion."

"Mommy!" Sara heard Connor calling her from down the hall. Sara looked in that direction and then back at Grissom. "I have to go see what's wrong with Connor."

"I know."

"I just…I want you to realize that I'm trying here, okay? I'm trying really hard to be happy. I'm trying really hard to be that person you want me to be. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't. It's just not going to happen overnight, and I'm not willing to take a bottle of pills to speed the process along. I'm just not. If you can't wait, then I understand, but--."

"Mommy!"

"I'm coming, Connor!" Sara yelled. She then completed her sentence to Grissom. "But don't expect me to be her. I just can't be her. I can't be my mother." Sara started to walk out of the room but stopped to address Grissom again. "I think I'm going to drive my own car in tonight."

"Okay," Grissom responded, now sorry he had ever raised the issue of medication.

"Mommy!"

Sara gave Grissom one last look. "I guess I'll see you there."


	75. Chapter 75

"Mommy!"

"I'm here," Sara said, as she flipped on the light to Connor's room. Connor, upon seeing Sara, grabbed a hold of Pookie, jumped down from the top bunk, and ran to his mother. "Hey, what have I told you about jumping down from there? You could have broken something," Sara scolded him.

"I don't care," Connor responded, burying his face in Sara's shirt.

Sara, feeling Connor's tears through her shirt, stepped back and knelt down in front of Connor. Connor put his arms tightly around Sara's neck and laid his head against her shoulder. "What's wrong? Did you have a bad dream?" Sara asked him.

"Uh-huh," Connor answered, squeezing Sara's neck tighter.

Sara, finding it hard to breath from the increased pressure on her neck, told Connor, "Okay. Let's go sit down and talk about it." Sara tried to stand up, but Connor wouldn't let go of her neck. "Do you want me to carry you?" she asked him.

"Uh-huh," Connor muttered.

"Okay then." Sara lifted Connor up, as he wrapped his legs around his waist. She stumbled, righted herself, and then attempted to regain her balance by steadying herself against Connor's desk. "You're getting too old for this," she told her son.

"No, I'm not."

"Then I'm getting too old for this."

"That's not my fault."

"No, I guess it's not." Sara managed to carry Connor to the bottom bunk and sit down with him in her lap. "Do you want to tell me what happened in the dream?"

Connor, failing to loosen his grip on Sara's neck, said, "The bad lady got you."

"The bad lady?" Sara questioned. "Who's the bad lady?"

"Natalie."

"Oh," Sara said, as she thought, damn internet. She reached up, removed Connor's arms from around her neck, and pulled him back from her so she could see his face. Realizing the irony of what she was about to say, she told Connor, "Look, Connor, it was just a dream."

"No, it wasn't."

"Yes, it was. Natalie is locked up. She can't hurt me or anyone else anymore."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Yes, I do."

"She could escape."

"No, she couldn't."

"Michael Myers escaped."

"Michael Myers? How do you know who Michael Myers is?"

"Tommy."

"Please tell me his mother didn't let you watch Halloween, too."

"No, but his sister did. She was watching us while Tommy's mom went to the grocery store."

"Of course, she was," Sara said, shaking her head. "Look, Connor, that was just a movie. Michael Myers isn't a real person. He didn't really escape from a mental hospital, put on a Halloween mask, and kill all of his sister's friends. He was just an actor who was getting paid to pretend to do those things."

"So? That doesn't mean Natalie still can't escape. She could pick a lock. She could set a fire and run away while everyone is trying to put out the fire. She could knock out a nurse, put on her clothes, and walk out the front door. She could do a lot of things to get out of there."

"Wow. You've thought a lot about this, haven't you?" Connor nodded. "Even if she could do those things, and I'm not saying that she can, she still can't get me."

"Why not?"

"For starters, I have a gun, remember?"

"Yeah, but you had one the night she took you, too."

"I also have your father, Nick, Warrick, Greg, Catherine, and Jim to protect me."

"So? You had them that night, too. They couldn't stop her."

He's right, Sara thought. They couldn't, and neither could I. "That's because they didn't know she was dangerous. They do now."

"So?"

"So some would say knowledge is power."

Connor sniffed and laid his head back against Sara's chest. "That's stupid. If your gun couldn't stop her, how do you think knowledge is going to? A gun's a lot more powerful than knowledge."

"In a way maybe. Look, baby. I don't know what else to tell you, other than Natalie can't hurt me anymore."

"You can say you're not going to work tonight."

"No, I can't. I have to go. I've used up all my sick time."

"Please."

"Connor, I can't."

"But she knows how to find you there. She doesn't know how to find you here."

"She's not going to find me at all." Connor started crying in response. Sara pulled him closer to her and asked, "Do you want me to sit here with you until Rachel comes?"

"Can you stay until I fall asleep?"

Sara looked at her watch. "Sure, but you have to actually try to go to sleep. You can't stay awake so I'll stay all night."

"I know."

Sara stood up with Connor and pulled the comforter back. She then laid him down before laying down next to him. "I'm going to be okay," she told him, as she brushed the tears from his face.

"Promise?"

"Promise." Assuming I can convince myself of the same thing, Sara thought.

* * *

"You look like hell," Grissom told Catherine, as she walked slowly into their office.

"I know, but do you have to yell?" Catherine asked, pushing her sunglasses higher up on her nose before sitting in her desk chair.

"I'm barely speaking above a whisper."

"It sure doesn't sound like it. You're echoing."

Grissom frowned and put down the book he was reading to study Catherine closer. "Isn't it a little late in the day for sunglasses?" he asked her.

"I have a headache."

"A headache or a hangover?"

"A headache," Catherine answered. Grissom raised his eyebrows in response. Catherine sighed. "Okay, so it's a little of both. Does it really matter?"

"Only if you want it to."

"Well, I don't. So what are you doing here this early? I thought I might actually beat you in again."

"I needed to get a few things done before shift."

Catherine looked over at the books on Grissom's desk. "Like read a book?" she asked. Grissom shrugged. Catherine read the titles out loud. "Dealing with Depression Naturally, The Post Traumatic Stress Disorder Sourcebook, and Healing Anxiety Naturally. What, did you finally get tired of reading Shakespeare?"

"No. I just made the mistake of raising the issue of anti-depressants with my wife tonight."

"Oh. I take it from the title of those books that the topic didn't go over so well."

"No, it didn't."

"So when you said you needed to get a few things done before shift, what you really meant was Sara kicked you out?"

"No, not exactly."

"So then where's Sara?"

"She's still at home," Grissom admitted. Catherine let her sunglasses fall down on her nose so that she could look Grissom in the eye. This time Grissom sighed. "She didn't kick me out. She just made it very clear that we weren't sharing a ride tonight."

"Well, I wouldn't let her see you reading those books or you won't be sharing a bed either."

"I don't intend to." Grissom looked at his watch and decided that he had better put the books away before Sara showed up and caught him with them. He placed the books back in the Barnes & Noble bag and stuck them under his desk. He then turned to Catherine. "Sara said you apologized."

"A lot of good it did. She didn't exactly accept the apology."

"Give her time. For what it's worth, I don't think she has exactly accepted my apology either."

"For suggesting she needs to be medicated or for sleeping with Heather?"

"Both."

"Then maybe you should have picked up Apologizing for Dummies instead."

Grissom looked at his watch. "There's still time. Do you want me to pick you up a copy, too?"

Catherine, thinking about Warrick, answered, "I could probably use one, but right now I'd settle for a bottle of Tylenol. I don't know what happened to mine."

"Here. You can have mine," Grissom said, as he opened the top drawer of his desk, got out a bottle of Tylenol, and tossed it to Catherine.

Catherine, catching it, said, "Thanks. Does this mean we're speaking again?"

"I didn't know we had ever stopped."

Catherine shook her head as she struggled to get the childproof top off the Tylenol. "Of course you didn't. You never do. Damn childproof cap."

"Do you need some help with that?" Grissom asked.

The top finally came off, and Tylenol spilled all over Catherine's desk. "No, I've got it."

"Do you want me to get you some water?"

Catherine, wincing as Grissom's voice continued to echo inside her head, said, "No. I just want us to go back to not speaking for awhile. Your voice…it's not doing me any favors."

"Fine by me," Grissom responded. Catherine winced again. "Sorry."

Catherine put two Tylenol in her mouth, took a sip of the coffee that her mother had insisted she take with her, and swallowed the pills. So am I, she thought. So am I.

* * *

Sara walked down the hallway of the lab. She had been scared that she was going to be late for shift, but luckily Connor had fallen asleep without a fight. Okay, maybe not luckily, Sara thought to herself. He had cried himself to sleep. That was far from luckily. She wanted to blame Michael for the nightmares. She wanted to call him up and ask him why the hell he hadn't put parental controls on his computer, but she couldn't. What had happened to her was in the news. Like her mother had said, the story had even been picked up by Good Morning America. Parental controls wouldn't have done any good, so all she could do was blame herself.

Sara knew that she should have handled the topic of her kidnapping better. When Ritchie had told her that Connor knew about Natalie, she had tried to talk to her son about what had happened. She had tried to assure him that Natalie couldn't hurt her anymore, but now she realized that she hadn't done enough. She had been so preoccupied with her pregnancy and how she was going to tell Grissom about it and about Connor that she hadn't even thought about taking him to see a psychiatrist. Maybe I should have taken him to one, Sara thought to herself. Maybe I should have gone to see one, too. If I had, maybe my husband wouldn't want to pop me full of pills just so he could stand to live with me.

When Sara walked into the locker room, she saw Warrick sitting on the bench, staring at the swollen knuckles on his right hand. "What happened to your hand?" Sara asked him, as she unlocked her locker.

"I punched a wall," Warrick answered.

"Did the wall punch back?" Sara asked with a laugh. She took off her jacket, put it in her locker, and turned around to look at Warrick. When she saw that he wasn't smiling, let alone laughing, she apologized for her comment. "Okay, bad joke. Seriously though, what happened?"

"Adam Novak happened."

Sara shut her locker door and asked, "Adam Novak? The defense lawyer?"

"The one and the same."

"You punched Adam Novak?"

"No, I punched a wall."

"Then what does Adam Novak have to do with your hand?" Warrick said nothing in response. He just stared down at the floor. Sara looked at Warrick, then at the hallway, and then back to Warrick. "Oh," she said, as she realized what Adam Novak had to do with his hand. "Oh," she said again, sitting down beside him on the bench. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Are you sure? I mean, I'm the reason the two of you got in a fight to begin with. If I had made you leave the party sooner, maybe--"

"Sara, stop. Don't blame yourself for this, too. For all I know, tonight wasn't even the first time. Catherine could have been seeing him for months. I've been sitting here thinking about all the times she told me she was going by Sam's casino to check on something, all the times I offered to go with her and she turned me down."

"And you're starting to think that Adam Novak was the something she was checking on?"

"Yeah, I am."

"Well, trust me when I say that I know exactly where you're coming from."

Warrick looked over at Sara. "Yeah, I guess you do."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes before Sara commented, "We're some pair, huh? My husband cheats on me with a dominatrix. Your girlfriend cheats on you with a lawyer. I'm not really sure which one is worse."

Warrick laughed despite himself just as Greg entered the locker room. "What's so funny?" Greg asked him.

"Nothing. Sara just told a joke," Warrick answered.

"I want to hear it."

"Okay. What's the difference between a lawyer and a dominatrix?" Warrick asked Greg.

"I don't know," Greg responded.

"Neither do we," Warrick said. He looked at Sara, and they both started laughing.

Greg, clearly confused by the punch line, said, "I don't get it."

Warrick and Sara only laughed harder.

* * *

"I still don't get the joke," Greg told Sara, as he followed her into the break room.

"You weren't supposed to get it," Sara said. She picked a coffee mug off the shelf, looked inside of it, and made a face. Showing Greg the inside of the cup, she asked, "Does that look clean to you?"

Greg looked at the cup. "No. Why not?"

"I guess someone forgot to wash it," Sara said, retrieving another mug from the communal supply.

"No. I mean why wasn't I supposed to get the joke?"

"Oh." Sara filled up the new mug with coffee. "Because it wasn't really a joke."

"So why were you laughing?"

"Because I'm tired of crying." Sara took a sip and made another face. "Okay, that's just wrong."

"That bad?"

"Bad doesn't even begin to describe it," Sara said, pouring the cup out in the sink. "It looks like I'm going to have to get my caffeine from a Coke instead."

Greg followed Sara over to the vending machines. "So other than the bad coffee, why would you be crying?"

"I'm not crying, Greg," Sara said, as she dug into her pants pocket for change.

"But you just said."

"I know what I just said," Sara said, counting the change in her hand. She looked at the change and looked at the soda machine. "When did they go up on Cokes?"

"A couple of months ago."

"Great. I'm short 10 cents."

"Here," Greg said, handing her a dime.

"Thanks," Sara responded. She put the change in the machine, hit the button for Coke, and waited for the soda to fall.

"Did Grissom do something?"

"No, Greg. Grissom didn't do anything," Sara said, retrieving her Coke.

"So why else would you….Warrick…Did he do something?"

"No, Warrick didn't do anything either."

"But he was laughing, too."

"Yes, he was."

"But why?"

Rather than answer Greg, Sara studied him for a minute while she drank her Coke. Finally, she asked, "Are you sleeping with Ronnie?"

"What?"

"Are you sleeping with Ronnie?"

"No. Why would you think that?"

"Because you're really starting to sound like her."

"We work together."

"Yeah, but she and I worked together, too, and I never sounded like that."

"So?"

"So, I'm just saying."

"I am not…I would never…"

"What, Greg? Cheat on me? It's okay. I think you make a cute couple. Annoying, maybe a little hyper, but cute."

"I am not sleeping with Ronnie."

"So you're just having sex with her then?"

"What? I just said--"

"That you're not sleeping with her. I know, but I also know that two people don't have to sleep together to have sex."

"I'm not having sex with her."

"If you say so, Greg."

"I'm not."

"He's not what?" Nick asked, as he walked into the break room and stood next to Sara.

"Having sex with Ronnie," Greg repeated.

Nick looked over at Sara. "Well, I could have told you that."

"Yeah, but I don't believe him."

"You don't?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one thing, he's protesting way too much, and for another, he's starting to sound just like her."

"Really? I always thought it was Ronnie who was starting to sound like Greg."

"Ooh, I never thought of it like that. So maybe this has been going on a lot longer than I thought."

"There is nothing going on," Greg insisted.

"If you say so, Greg," Sara said.

"I do say so, and you're just avoiding the question."

"What question is that?" Nick asked.

"I don't know. I forgot," she answered. Sara, noticing the slip of paper in Nick's hand, asked, "Did we miss assignments?"

"Not exactly. Catherine just handed me this on the way in and told me to take you with me."

"Is she going with us?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Is he?" Sara asked, motioning at Greg.

"Not to my knowledge."

Sara grabbed the paper out of Nick's hand. "Great. Then let's go."

Nick and Sara walked out of the break room. Greg followed them into the hallway. "So I have to stay here?" Greg asked them.

Nick and Sara turned around. "Looks like," Nick answered.

"Why? What did I do?" Greg asked.

Sara smiled and answered, "Ronnie."

"For the last time, I am not sleeping with Ronnie."

"I believe you, Greg. I was just saying hello."

"What?"

Sara motioned for Greg to turn around. Greg did as instructed and found Ronnie standing behind him, her arms crossed and an angry scowl on her face. "Uh…Ronnie…hi," Greg stammered.

"Hello, Greg," Ronnie replied through clenched teeth.

Nick laughed, as Sara said, "Goodbye, Greg. I hope you have a nice night."

"Like that's ever going to happen," Greg mumbled.

He turned to Ronnie, who said, "My thoughts exactly."

* * *

"You're mighty quiet," Nick told Sara on their way to the crime scene.

"I'm just thinking," Sara responded.

"About what, Greg and Ronnie?"

"No."

"Then about what?"

"Nothing important."

"It doesn't look like nothing important."

"Really? And how can you tell?"

"Because you've got that Sara look again."

"That Sara look?"

"You know, when you're all like this," Nick said, as he tried to copy Sara's worried look.

"Okay, you look just as constipated as Greg when he does that."

"It looks better on you. I swear."

"That's what Greg said, too, but I'm really not believing either one of you."

"So do you want to talk about it?" Sara shrugged. "You know it helps--"

"To talk about it. I know. I know. You should really consider getting that printed on a T-shirt."

"I would if I thought it would help."

Sara looked at Nick. "Grissom thinks anti-depressants would help more."

"Oh," Nick said, glancing over at Sara. "I take it from the look on your face that you don't."

Sara shrugged. "Not particularly."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Yeah."

"And what did he say?"

"He started talking about my serotonin levels."

"Not exactly the most sensitive response. I'm sure he was just trying to help."

Sara shrugged again as she fingered the key chain Connor had given her. "After my father died, my foster parents took me and Ritchie to see this shrink, Dr. Jameson. I guess they were tired of the crying and all the nightmares that I was having because they asked Dr. Jameson if there was anything he could give me to make me a happier child."

"A happier child?" Nick asked, looking over at Sara. Sara met his eyes for a second and then looked away. "Sara, your father had just been murdered, and your mother was in jail. You weren't supposed to be a happy child."

Sara turned to stare out the side window. "They thought so, and apparently Dr. Jameson agreed with them because he prescribed anti-depressants. I didn't want to take them, so Ritchie told me that I should just pretend to swallow them. I did that for about a week before one of my foster siblings ratted me out. After that, my foster parents would check my mouth every night to make sure I had swallowed them. The thing is, Nick, when the pills finally kicked in, I didn't feel happy. I didn't feel anything at all. I couldn't laugh. I couldn't cry. I was just numb."

"How long did you stay like that?"

"For a few months until Ritchie and I got sent to another foster home and the prescription ran out. Our new parents could have cared less about taking either one of us to a shrink. All they cared about was the monthly check they got from the government. After that, no matter what home I got sent to, I always did the same thing. I smiled when I was supposed to. I said 'please' and 'thank you.' I always did my chores, and I never, ever let anyone see me cry."

"Until now."

Sara looked at Nick again. "Right. Until now. I let you and Grissom and everyone else see me cry, and now all anyone wants to do is give me a bottle of pills so I can be all bright and shiny again, just like my foster parents."

"I don't."

"Well, you're the only one."

"Did you tell Grissom any of this?"

"No. I just told him that I didn't want to take the pills because of my mother."

"And he didn't question that?"

"No. Why would he?"

"I don't know." Nick was silent for a minute before he said, "Maybe you should tell him."

"Maybe."

"I think he would understand."

"Maybe, or maybe he would just try to find some other way to cure me."

"Cure you? You act like you're sick."

"I think that's the way Grissom sees me sometimes. Poor, little, sick Sara, all broken inside and in need of a cure. The scientist in him can't stand it unless he finds that cure and fixes me."

"I'm sure Grissom just wants you to be happy."

"And I want to be happy, Nick. Really, I do. I just can't risk turning into that zombie again."

"Well, then tell him that."

"I'll think about it." Sara reached over and started playing with the radio. "Do you think we can talk about something else?" she asked Nick.

"Sure. What do you want to talk about?"

"How about you? It's been ten months since we talked about you. Are you seeing anyone?"

"No."

"Do you want to see someone?"

"Maybe. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Sara said, as she smiled to herself and turned the radio again.

"What? Do you know something I don't? Did someone ask you about me?"

"No, I was just thinking."

"About what this time?"

"Well, I hear Mandy is still single."

"Mandy? Mandy Webster?"

"No, Mandy Moore. Yes, Mandy Webster."

"Sara, come on."

"No, you come on. I've seen the way she looks at you, and I've also heard you serenade her from time to time."

"You heard that?"

"The whole lab heard it." Sara laughed when Nick started to turn bright red. She then mimicked Nick's singing. "Oh, Mandy. Well, you came and you gave without taking, but I sent you away. Oh, Mandy…"

"Okay, that's enough singing," Nick said, turning even redder.

"Hey, don't be embarrassed. I think it's sweet. In the entire 10 years that I've known Grissom, he has never once sang to me."

"Why, is he tone deaf?"

"You know, I'm not really sure."

"What, you've never heard him sing, not even in the shower?"

Sara started to answer Nick's question but then realized what he was doing. "Hey, don't change the subject. This isn't about Grissom singing. It's about you singing to Mandy. You should ask her out."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because we work together."

"Which is exactly why you should ask her out."

"And how do you figure that?"

"Well, where else are you going to meet a girl?"

Nick looked over at Sara and shook his head. "You know, I'm starting to think those pills wouldn't be such a bad idea."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just say that."

"I didn't mean for you. I meant for me. A few more minutes of this, and I'm going to want to be numb."

"Ha. Ha. Very funny. Ooh. What about Sofia? She's pretty, right? And she comes with her own set of handcuffs."

"Sara…"

"I'm sure we can find a song for you to sing to her, too."

"Is there a song I can sing to make you shut up?"

"Nope, sorry. What about stealing Wendy away from Hodges?"

"Sara…"

"It's just an idea."

"So is driving in silence."

"Okay. Okay. I can take a hint." Sara was quiet for a moment and then said, "Hey, what about--"

"Sara…"

Sara sighed. "Never mind."

* * *

Grissom was steadily making progress on Dealing with Depression Naturally. He had sent Warrick and Ronnie out on their own so that he could read what he could before Sara got back from her own crime scene. He wanted to help Sara with her emotional problems, but he knew that he would never be able to read the books at home in front of her. He was pretty sure that Catherine had been right when she said that he and Sara wouldn't be sharing a bed if Sara found out that he had bought them. She hadn't even spoken to him since the whole anti-depressant debacle at home.

Grissom jumped when the office door opened.

"Calm down," Catherine said, as she walked into the room. "It's just me. No need to hide the book just yet.. Maybe you should hide it in a file."

"That's not a bad idea," Grissom admitted. He rummaged through the bottom drawer of his desk until he found an empty file he could hide the book in. He then pulled it out and stuck it in front of the book. "How does that look?" he asked Catherine.

"Better," Catherine said, as she placed her newly filled mug on her desk. "It no longer screams 'I'm reading a book about how to treat my wife's depression.'"

"Good."

"So how is the book?"

"Quite informative. How's the headache?"

"Still painful."

"And the coffee?"

Catherine took a sip and winced. "Even worse."

Both Grissom and Catherine looked up when they heard a knock on the door.

"Judy," Grissom said, when he saw who had knocked.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Judy told Grissom, "but you have--"

"Dad!" Connor exclaimed, as he ran into the room..

"Visitors," Judy finished.

Connor, his hair still messy from sleep and his eyes still red from crying, ran around the desk and put his arms around Grissom's neck. Rachel followed Connor into the room with Ava in her arms. "I'm sorry, Mr. Grissom.," Rachel said, apologizing for their late appearance at the lab. "I didn't know what else to do. I tried to call Mrs. Grissom, but she's not answering her phone. This was the only thing that would calm him down."

"What's wrong?" Grissom asked Rachel.

"He's been having nightmares all night," Rachel answered.

"What about?"

"About the bad lady," Connor whispered.

"Who?" Grissom asked, looking at Rachel.

"Natalie Davis," she explained.

"Oh. That bad lady."

"She has Mom," Connor stated.

Grissom pulled away from Connor so that he could look him in the eye. "No, Connor, she doesn't."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Yes, I do. Natalie Davis is still in the mental institution she was sent to 16 months ago."

"Then why isn't Mom answering the phone?"

"She probably just forgot to turn it on or the battery is dead."

"Or she is."

"Your mother is not dead."

"You don't know that for sure."

"Yes, I do."

"How?"

"How do I know that?" Grissom asked. Connor nodded his head in response. "I just do."

"Did you know that she was alive the last time the bad lady took her?"

"I…uh…" Grissom stammered, unsure of whether he should answer his son's question honestly.

"You didn't, did you? Which means you don't know now either."

"Yes, I do. I just saw Sara."

"When?"

"A few hours ago."

"A lot of things can happen in a few hours."

"That's true, but they don't have to bad things."

"But they could be. Where is she?"

"She's still at a crime scene."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"How do you know she's not in some crazy person's trunk or buried under a car again?"

"I just do."

"Liar," Connor said. He walked away from his father, wrapped his arms around Rachel's waist, and started to cry again.

Rachel looked to Grissom for help. "He's been this way all night," she told him.

"What am I supposed to do?" Grissom asked. He, in turn, looked to Catherine for help, but it was Connor who gave him the answer.

"Find Mommy," Connor said, turning to look at Grissom. "Please just find Mommy."


	76. Chapter 76

"Hey, Nick," Sara said, as she took several photographs of the glass on the floor and the pieces that remained in the window frame.

Nick stopped taking pictures of the blood pool on the other side of the living room and walked over to Sara. "Please tell me you're not fixin' to suggest that I ask the newly widowed Mrs. Davidson out for drinks."

"No, the thought never crossed my mind."

Nick looked over at Mrs. Davidson, who was still talking to Sofia in the foyer, and said, "Well, she is kind of hot."

"True, but I think you're a little young for her."

"Young? She's at least 10 years younger than me."

"Yeah, but did you get a good look at Mr. Davidson? He's a good 30 years older than you."

"So she likes them a little old."

"And a little rich. Look around, Nick. Unless you plan on winning the jackpot at the Tangiers after shift, she's way out of your league."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. So did you want to ask me something, or did you just call me over here to crush my ego?"

Sara pointed at the glass. "What do you see?" she asked Nick.

"Uh, glass on the floor."

"How about not enough glass on the floor? Didn't Sofia say that the intruder was supposed to have entered the house through this window?"

"Yeah."

"Well, where's all the glass? There's only a few pieces left in the frame. If the intruder broke the window open from the outside, shouldn't there be more glass on the floor?"

"Maybe it's still on the intruder."

"That much glass? Not unless he was wearing a sweater made of sticky tape."

"Maybe it's on the ground outside."

"That's what I was thinking, which means…"

"That the window was probably broken from the inside, not out. Which also means Mrs. Davidson is now a suspect, and not just the victim's widow."

"Exactly." Sara looked over at Nick. "I bet Mrs. Davidson doesn't look so hot right about now."

"No, I can't say that she does." Nick frowned, as he looked down at the glass. "You bag that glass, and I'll get the glass outside. We'll take the frame back to the lab, and put the window back together."

"Will do."

Before Nick could head outside to look for the broken glass, Mitch walked over and handed Sara his phone. "It's Grissom. He says it's important," he told Sara.

Sara looked at the phone, puzzled. "Why is he calling me on your phone?" she asked Mitch.

"He said you weren't answering yours."

"I haven't heard it ring." Sara checked her own phone and found that the screen had gone black. "Great. The battery is dead again. I swear I just charged it this morning."

"Maybe you need a new battery," Nick suggested.

"Apparently." Sara looked over at Nick. "Where's your phone?"

Nick felt his pocket and found it empty. "I must have left it in the car. I guess that explains why Grissom called Mitch instead of me when he couldn't get you."

Sara held up the officer's phone. "Thanks, Mitch. I'll bring it back to you when I'm finished."

"Take your time. I'm not in a rush."

Mitch started to walk away but Sara stopped him. "Hey, Mitch. I've been meaning to ask you, do you have any sisters?"

"No, just brothers. Why?"

"Well, Nick here needs a girlfriend."

Mitch laughed. "I've been telling him that for years."

Sara laughed in turn. Nick, however, just shook his head at the both of them. "You're just not going to let it go, are you?" he asked Sara.

"Not until I find you a girlfriend…or a wife."

"Good luck with that," Mitch told Sara. "You're going to need it."

"Thanks a lot, Mitch. Thanks a lot," Nick said.

After Mitch had walked away, Nick asked Sara, "By any chance did you watch a lot of dating shows when you were on bed rest?"

"A watched a lot of everything. Why?"

"It shows. I feel like you're about to sign me up for The Bachelor."

"Actually, I was thinking of trying to get you your own show. Something along the lines of Love in the Nick of Time. It's kind of catchy, right?" Nick shook his head again as he walked away from Sara. Sara called after him, "I'm going to find you a girl, Nick Stokes, if it's the last thing I do."

"And I'm going to go find you some glass."

Sara put the phone to her ear and said, "Hi, Gil. What's up?"

"Connor's here," Grissom answered.

"At the lab?"

"Yes. At the lab."

"But it's like 2 in the morning."

"I know."

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's having nightmares."

"Let me guess. About Natalie?"

"Yes, about Natalie. How did you know?"

"He had one about her before I left."

"From what I understand, he's been having them all night. Connor wanted to talk to you about them, but Rachel couldn't get you on the phone."

"It's the battery. For some reason it's not holding a charge."

"I'll get you a new one."

"Thanks. So how did Connor end up there?'

"When Rachel couldn't get you, Connor became hysterical. He thought Natalie had taken you again. Rachel thought if he saw you here, he'd calm down and be able to go back to sleep."

"But I'm not there."

"No, you're not, a fact I assure you he's quite aware of."

"Great. Is he okay?"

"No. He still thinks that Natalie is going to break out of the mental ward at any minute and take you away from him. Sara, I don't what to do. I keep telling him that that's never going to happen, but he's not listening to me."

"Well, what do you want me to do? I can't come get him. It's going to be at least another hour or two before I can even think about leaving this scene."

"I know. Maybe you can talk to him, tell him you're fine."

"I can try, but seeing as I've already done that once tonight, I don't think it's going to do any good."

Sara heard Grissom tell Connor that she was on the phone and Connor take the phone from his father's hand.

"Mommy?" Connor asked.

"Hey, baby," she said.

"You're alive."

"Yes, baby, I'm alive."

"The bad lady didn't get you?"

"No, the bad lady didn't get me."

"Why didn't you answer your phone when Rachel called?"

"My battery died again."

"The bad lady didn't take it?"

"No, sweetie, the bad lady didn't take it. Like I told you earlier, Natalie's locked up. She can't hurt me anymore."

"Yes, she can. I saw it in my dream."

"Your dad said you had another bad one."

Connor sniffed. "I had a lot of bad ones."

"Were they all about Natalie?"

"Uh-huh."

"Connor, they were just dreams. You realize that, right?"

"Yes, but sometimes dreams come true, like in The Wizard of Oz."

"The Wizard of Oz was just a movie, Connor."

"I know, but I've heard people say 'a dream come true' in real life, too."

"That's true. They do, but when they say it, they don't actually mean that their dreams have come true. What they mean is that they finally got something that they've been wanting for a really long time. Like you've always wanted a dog, right? Now that you have Hank, it's a dream come true."

"But what about a bad dream? If you get something you never wanted, isn't that a bad dream come true?"

"I guess."

"So I never want the bad lady to take you, and if she does, then it's a bad dream come true."

"But she's not going to take me, Connor."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"So then why do you have nightmares about her?"

"How do you know I have nightmares about Natalie?"

"You say her name in your sleep sometimes, right before you start crying."

"I didn't know that."

"Sometimes you say Da--Michael's, too."

"Oh," Sara said, as she realized that her son knew more about her neuroses than she ever cared for him to. "They were just dreams, Connor, no more and no less."

"But they still made you scared."

"Yes, I guess they did."

"So why can't I be scared that the bad lady is going to get you?"

"Because I don't want you to be scared."

"I don't want you to be scared either. When are you coming home?"

"Not for awhile, sweetie. I have to finish this scene, and then I have to take all the evidence back to the lab and start processing it."

"I want to wait for you."

"And I want you to go home and go back to sleep."

"I can't. I'll just have another nightmare. I want to wait for you."

"Connor."

"Please, Mom. Please. I promise I won't bother anyone. I'll just sit here and be quiet and wait for you. Please, please, please."

Sara, hearing the needy tone in her son's voice, gave in. "Okay, but only if your father agrees."

"He will. I know he will. Please hurry back."

"I'm going to try, Connor."

"And don't let the bad lady get you."

Sara, at a loss for anything else to say when it came to the subject of Natalie, simply told Connor, "I won't."

"I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too."

Sara hung up the phone and sighed. Best mom ever. Like she had told Grissom earlier, what a joke.


	77. Chapter 77

"All right, Connor. You talked to your mom. Now it's time to get you home and back to bed," Rachel said, as she put one hand on Connor's shoulder and tried to steer him towards the door.

Connor pulled loose from Rachel's grasp and turned to look at her. "No," he protested. "Mom said I could stay here and wait for her so long as it was okay with Dad." Connor then turned to Grissom and asked, "It is okay, isn't it?"

Grissom looked at his son and then over at Catherine, who gave him a slight nod. "It's fine," Grissom said. "He can stay."

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked. "I didn't bring him any games or books or anything."

"I don't need them," Connor told her. "I just want to wait for Mom."

"It should be fine," Grissom assured Rachel.

"Okay, but if you change your mind…"

"I'll call you," Grissom finished for her.

Grissom walked Rachel and Ava to the parking lot. When he returned, he found Connor sitting in one of the office chairs, picking at the fur on his teddy bear and sniffing loudly. Now what, Grissom thought to himself. He was at a complete loss as to what he was supposed to do next to assure Connor that his mother was okay.

Catherine, who was still sitting at her desk, looked up and saw Grissom frozen in the doorway to their office. Shaking her head at her colleague's ineptness, she got up from her desk and walked over to Connor. Kneeling down in front of his chair, she reached out and touched the teddy bear Connor was holding. "That's a really nice bear you've got there," she told Connor.

"Thank you," Connor said. He stopped picking at the bear's fur and held it closer to him, just out of Catherine's reach.

"You know my daughter had a bear a lot like that when she was your age. Her bear's name was BoBo. What's your bear's name?"

"Pookie."

"Did your mom give him to you?"

"Uh-huh. She got him for me when I was still in her tummy."

"I bet you take him everywhere."

"I don't take him to school. Everyone would make fun of me."

"That's too bad. I bet he misses you when you're at school." Connor shrugged in response. "What do you say you and I take Pookie and show him all the cool stuff in the lab? I can promise you that no one here is going to make fun of you for bringing Pookie with you."

"I've already seen the lab."

"I know, but I bet Pookie hasn't."

"He's a stuffed bear. He can't see anything."

"Oh. Okay. Well, in that case is there anything you want to see again?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Are you hungry? I could fix you something."

"No thanks."

"Do you want something to drink?"

"No. I just want to wait for my mom."

Catherine looked at Grissom, who was still standing in the doorway, and shrugged. She stood up and went back to her desk.

Grissom took a deep breath and finally walked over to his son. "Are you sleepy?" he asked Connor.

"A little," Connor mumbled, as he continued to squeeze Pookie.

"There's a couch in the break room. I could get you a blanket and a pillow if you want to lie down."

"I don't wanna."

"Okay." Grissom again looked to Catherine for help, but she still couldn't offer anything more than a shrug, so he did the only thing he could do--he sat down at his desk.

The three sat in silence for a few minutes before Connor got up from his chair and walked over to Grissom. "Can I sit with you?" Connor asked his father.

"Uh, sure," Grissom answered. He slid over as much as he could in his desk chair and allowed Connor to squeeze in beside him. He then awkwardly put his arm around Connor's shoulders.

"I'm sorry I called you a liar," Connor told Grissom.

"It's okay."

"I just want Mom to be okay."

"So do I, son. So do I."

* * *

Nick walked back into the Davidson home and found Sara standing next to the broken window, staring into space. "I have all of the exterior glass fragments photographed, marked, packaged, and ready to go back to the lab. Please tell me you're almost done with the interior ones. I'm getting hungry," he told her. When Sara didn't answer him, he touched her shoulder and said her name, "Sara."

"Huh?" Sara asked, as she finally realized Nick was standing next to her. "Did you say something?"

"I said I was through outside and asked you if you're almost done in here."

"Oh. Yeah. I just, uh, have to remove the frame," Sara answered. She looked at the window but did not attempt to remove its frame.

"Do you want some help?" Nick asked. Again Sara didn't answer Nick's question. "Sara."

"Huh?"

Nick frowned. Sara's mood had done a 180 since he had gone outside, and he figured that the phone call from Grissom had something to do with. "What do you say we go outside and get some air?"

"Why? I'm fine."

"Well, I'm not, and I'm pulling rank, so let's go for a walk."

Sara sighed and let Nick lead her out of the house. Once outside on the lawn, she crossed her arms, looked at Nick, and asked, "So Assistant Supervisor Stokes, what do you want to talk to me about out here that you couldn't talk to me about in there?"

"Grissom. What did he do now?"

Sara looked away. "Nothing."

"Oh, come on, Sara. An hour ago you were laughing and trying to set me up with every woman in the room. Now you're all dark and gloomy and staring into space. He had to do something."

Sara looked back at Nick and reiterated, "He didn't do anything."

"Then what gives?"

"Connor's at the lab."

Nick looked at his watch. "Uh, isn't it a little late for a school night?"

"Yes, it is."

"So what's wrong? Is he sick or something?"

"Or something. He's having nightmares again."

"About what?"

"About me."

"About you?" Nick asked, not believing her. "You're scary, Sara, but you're not that scary."

Sara didn't laugh at Nick's attempt at a joke. "Natalie is."

"So he's having nightmares about you and Natalie." Sara nodded. "Wait. How does Connor even know about Natalie?"

"The internet. This time last year my son was using it to find me because he wanted to run away and live with me, but he found Natalie instead. Thanks to everything he has read about her, Natalie has become the boogeyman in our house. Connor is convinced that she's going to break out of the loony bin at any minute and take me away from him."

"Poor kid. You've told him that can't happen, right?"

"Of course, I have. We all have, for all the good it's done. He doesn't believe me. He doesn't believe Ritchie and Cam. He doesn't believe Grissom. All he believes is that I'm going to leave him. Given my track record, you can't really blame him, can you?"

"Sara, come on. You've got to stop doing this."

"Stop doing what? Speaking the truth. I leave people, Nick. It's what I do. You know it. Grissom knows it, and now so does my son. You know Connor had a nightmare before I left tonight, and he begged me to stay home with him, and I couldn't do it."

"Sara, you had to go to work. You didn't leave him. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

"Yes, there is."

"I'm sure Connor doesn't think so at the moment."

"He's eight, Sara. He probably still thinks Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy are real. He'll get over it."

"That's easy for you to say. Your mother didn't leave you."

"Sure she did. She left me every morning when she went to work, and I turned out okay."

"But that's because your mother always came back. I didn't. I got up one morning, told him I was going to work, and didn't come back for seven years."

"And yet the kid still loves you." Sara snickered at the comment. "Come on, Sara. Don't tell me you actually believe he doesn't."

"I believe he believes he does."

"You believe he believes…what?" Sara shrugged and looked down at the ground. "Okay, tell me this. When Connor wakes up from a nightmare, who does he call out for?"

"Me," Sara admitted reluctantly.

"And when he falls and skins his knee, who does he ask for?"

"Me."

"And when he's sick and running a fever, who does he want?"

"Me."

"So what do you call that if you don't call it love?"

"I don't know. Convenience?"

Nick shook his head in frustration. "No, Sara, it's love. Your son doesn't hate you for leaving him. If anything, he loves you for coming to get him. So he's afraid of Natalie Davis. Well, who isn't? I'm afraid of her, and I'm grown man, so why shouldn't an eight-year-old boy be afraid of her?"

"I didn't say he shouldn't be afraid of her. I just said that--"

"The dreams are more about you leaving him than they are about Natalie. Sara, sometimes a dream is just a dream. Don't go reading anymore into Connor's nightmares than you have to."

"But--."

"No buts, Sara. Your son had a nightmare about the boogeyman, and now he wants his mother. It's as simple as that. So do you want to know what we're going to do about it? We're going to finish processing this crime scene, and then we're going to go back to the lab, and then you're going to put a smile on your face and tell your son that everything is going to be okay." When Sara frowned at the last suggestion, Nick said, "No. Make that you're going to put a smile on your face. Then we're going to finish the scene, go back to the lab, and talk to Connor." Sara continued to frown. "That doesn't look like a smile."

"Well, I don't really feel like smiling at the moment."

"Well, then I guess I'm going to have to do something to change that." Nick looked around to see if anyone was listening to them and then started to sing, "Go now. Don't look back. We've drawn the line."

Sara, interrupting him, asked, "Nick, what are you doing?"

"I'm singing," Nick told her before continuing the song. "Move on. It's no good to go back in time."

Sara glanced around nervously. "Well, stop it."

"Not until you start smiling." He then started to sing louder. "I'll never find another girl like you. For happy endings, it takes two. We're fire and ice. The dream won't come true."

Sara noticed that the uniformed officers at the front door were looking at them. "Nick, stop. People are looking at us."

"Sorry, I don't see a smile yet." He then sang even louder, "Sara, Sara, storms are brewin' in your eyes. Sara, Sara, no time is a good time for goodbyes."

"How about right now? Is this a good time for goodbye?" Sara asked, as more officers came outside to witness Nick's impromptu concert.

Nick shook his head and pointed at the smile on his face. Sara glared in response, so Nick moved on to the next verse. "Danger in the game when the stakes are high."

"I'm about to show you danger," Sara stated through clenched teeth.

Nick was undeterred. "Branded, my heart was branded while my senses stood by."

"And apparently they never returned," she muttered, as one of the officers whistled and another yelled, "Go, Stokes!"

"I'll never find another girl like you. For happy endings, it takes two. We're fire and ice. The dream won't come true."

"Okay. Okay. I'm smiling. See, look. A smile," Sara said, pointing at the smile on her face.

"Only with your lips. Not with your eyes," Nick said, as he got on his knees.

"Oh, dear God," Sara mumbled in response.

Nick grabbed hold of her right hand. "Sara, Sara, storms are brewin' in your eyes. Sara, Sara, no time is a good time for goodbyes."

Sara pulled on his hand, trying to get him off the ground. "Please get up," she whispered. Sara noticed that Sofia and Mitch had now joined the uniformed officers on the porch. "If you don't, I'm going to have to disappear again, only this time I'm going to have to change my name."

"Give me one real smile, and I will," he whispered back. He then sang as loudly and as off key as he could, "'Cause Sara loved me like no one had ever loved me before, and Sara hurt me. No one could ever hurt me more. And Sara, Sara, and Sara, nobody loved me anymore."

"Nick, please," she implored.

"I still don't see a smile." He jumped up and ran over to the porch. "Come on, everybody now," Nick said, motioning for the officers to join him. All together, Nick and the officers finished the chorus of "Sara," while Sara watched them from the lawn.

"My life has just turned into some lost episode of Cop Rock," Sara mumbled to herself, her face reddening with embarrassment. However, she couldn't help but smile at Nick's antics.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Grissom asked Catherine, who was holding her cell phone out in front of her.

"I'm taking a picture," she answered.

"Of what?"

"Of you and Connor."

"Why?"

"Because no one is going to believe me when I tell them that Gil Grissom has been sitting in his office for the last hour or so with his eight-year-old son and a stuffed bear named Pookie asleep in his lap."

Grissom looked down at Connor and then back at Catherine. "And why is that so hard to believe?" he asked her.

"It just is," Catherine answered. Grissom raised his eyebrows in response. "Oh, come on, Gil. You know as well as I do that you're not exactly what one might call a 'people person,' so for you to be sitting here with a kid and a teddy bear in your lap…well, it's kind of a momentous event. Personally, I didn't think I'd ever see it."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, Catherine."

"Come on. You know what I mean. In the entire time that I've known you, I don't think we've ever once talked about you having kids or wanting to have kids. Okay, well there was that one time after you and Greg got into that fight, but that was more me talking and you pretending you didn't hear me."

"So?"

"So I was starting to think that your biological clock was broken or that you just didn't have one, but yet here you are and here he is, so obviously I was wrong. Hence, the picture." Catherine held up her phone again, took one more shot, and then put the phone down. "Don't worry. I plan on sending copies to Sara."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that."

"I hope so." After Catherine put her cell phone away, Grissom's desk phone rang. "Do you want me to answer that?" she asked him.

"If you don't mind. I'm scared if I move too much, he's going to wake up."

Catherine got up and picked up Grissom's phone. "Catherine Willows," she answered.

"Catherine, what are you doing answering Gil's phone?" Ecklie asked Catherine.

Catherine mouthed "Ecklie" to Grissom. Grissom mouthed "great" back.

"We share the office. We share the phone," Catherine told Ecklie.

"But I got you your own line," Ecklie said.

"That you did. Still, I thought I'd be courteous and answer it."

"Well, why isn't Gil answering it?"

Catherine looked over at Grissom and Connor. "He's a little indisposed at the moment."

"Well, tell him to get disposed and to do it pronto."

"I don't know that he can do that, Conrad."

"He doesn't have a choice. I need him at a crime scene now."

"Is it something I can handle?"

"Ordinarily, I'd say yes, but apparently the Deputy DA has gotten wind of the fact that Gil is back and has requested him personally."

"By requested, I take it you mean ordered?"

"Well, I'm not ordinarily up at this hour, so what do you think?"

Catherine sighed before saying, "I'll let Gil know. What's the address?"

Ecklie gave Catherine an address in the Las Vegas Country Club neighborhood.

"Catherine, please make sure that Gil understands that sending someone else is not an option."

"Will do," Catherine said before hanging up the phone and looking at Grissom.

Grissom, seeing the look on Catherine's face, asked, "You'll let me know what?"

"That your good friend Madeline Klein has requested your presence at a crime scene out by the Country Club."

"How does she even know that I'm back?"

"You've got me, but she does."

"Well, why can't you go?"

"Because apparently I'm not you."

"Great," Grissom muttered. He looked down at his sleeping son. "What am I supposed to do about Connor?"

"I'll watch him. In fact, I'll trade you him for Greg."

"Sara's not going to be happy about that."

"When is she these days?"

* * *

"I so hate you right now," Sara told Nick on their way back to the lab.

"That may be, but at least you're finally smiling," Nick responded.

"I'm only smiling to keep from crying."

"Come on. You know you loved it."

"I loved it? Is that why I'm currently looking out the window for a rock big enough to crawl under?"

"Hey. It's your own fault. You should have never brought up the Mandy thing."

"Right, Mandy. She gets Barry Manilow, and I get Jefferson Starship. Seriously, Nick, you couldn't do better than Jefferson Starship?"

"Do you know another song with your name in it?"

"No."

"Then to answer your question, no, I couldn't do better than Jefferson Starship, especially at the last minute. I thought about singing 'Don't Worry, Be Happy' but I thought an 80's ballad was a little more believable coming from me than reggae."

"Well, I hope you enjoyed working with me tonight because I'm never going to be able to show my face at a crime scene again. I'm going to have to switch to lab work or move to Antarctica or something. Do you think they need criminalists in Antarctica?"

"Probably."

"But I bet they still get You Tube down there, so I won't even be able to move to Antarctica without a lot of plastic surgery. So what do you think I should change first, my nose or my eyes?"

"How about neither, and you just stop taking things so seriously instead?"

"I'll think about it."

"Well, you should do more than think about it, Sara. If it's one thing I've learned in the last couple of months, it's that life is way too short to take everything so seriously."

"In the last few months, huh? So what happened in the last few months that made you have this great epiphany?"

"Don't you know?" Nick asked, glancing over at Sara.

"Don't I know what?" Sara asked in return.

"About what happened to Warrick."

Sara joked, "Do you mean Catherine?"

"No, not Catherine," Nick answered, his tone turning serious.

Sara, noticing the change, looked over at Nick. "Wait. Did something happen to Warrick while I was gone?"

"You don't know, do you?" Seeing the puzzled look on Sara's face, Nick continued, "I thought Grissom or Greg would have told you by now."

"Told me what?"

"Warrick got shot, Sara."

"Whoa. What?"

"Warrick was shot."

"When?"

"Last May. Someone walked up to his car and shot him in the neck. I was the one who found him. I was still in the diner, and I heard the shots, and I ran out, and…" Nick's voice trailed off as he remembered finding Warrick in the alley. "I thought he was dead, Sara. There was so much blood, and he wasn't moving, and with the location of the wounds…" Nick's voice trailed off again. He was silent for a moment before he told Sara, "The doctors said Warrick should have died on the way to hospital, but he didn't. Then they said he wouldn't live through the night, but he did. Then they said he'd never wake up from the coma, but he did that, too. He also learned to walk again, after they said he never would."

"Wait. What? He almost died, he was in a coma, and he was paralyzed?"

"Yeah. I guess you could say Warrick's a living miracle. He just started back to work a few weeks ago."

"What? Why didn't someone tell me?"

"We didn't know where you were."

"Greg did. I didn't give him an exact address, but he knew I was in L.A. He could have called the LAPD and asked for my brother."

"I think he was going to, but then Grissom left a few days later, and we just all assumed that he was going after you. We figured it was better that Grissom tell you about Warrick in person than one of us tell you over the phone. We thought you were still pregnant. We didn't want you to go into labor early or anything."

"But he didn't tell me. He ran off to Florida."

"I know, but we didn't know that then."

"Is that how Warrick and Catherine finally…?"

"Yeah, I guess you could say she got a wake up call. We all did. She hardly left his side those first few weeks."

Sara shook her head. "I can't believe this. I can't believe Warrick was shot, and I wasn't here. I should have been here. He could have died, and I wouldn't have even known it. I wouldn't have been able to say goodbye. I didn't say goodbye before I left, not to Warrick, not to you, not to anyone but Grissom, and I couldn't even do that face-to-face."

"Sara, I didn't tell you this to upset you or so you could blame yourself for one more thing. I told you this to prove a point. Life is short. I mean, look at us, Sara. I was buried alive. You had a car dropped on top of you. Greg was beaten to a bloody pulp, and Warrick was shot. What does that say about us?"

"That we're a seriously unlucky group of people?"

"No. I think it says the exact opposite. That we're very lucky. For all intents and purposes, the four of us should be dead, but we're not. That could very well make us the luckiest people on earth. So what should we do about that, Sara? Should we sit around and dwell on the why me's? Or should we take advantage of every day that we've been given? Guess which one I'm leaning towards."

Sara didn't say anything until they pulled into the parking lot of the lab. "I should have been here, Nick," she stated.

"Maybe. Maybe not, but it doesn't matter anymore, Sara. What matters is that you're here now. For Warrick. For Connor. For all of us. So like I said before, what are you going to do about it?"

Sara didn't have an answer to Nick's question.

* * *

"It's about time," Madeline Klein told Grissom, as he and Greg got out of the SUV at the crime scene.

Grissom checked his watch. "Conrad just called me 20 minutes ago."

"Yes, but the Gil Grissom I knew would have never needed me or Conrad Ecklie to call him. He would have beaten us both here."

"People change, Maddie."

"You don't."

Grissom didn't comment. He just started to walk towards the house that he assumed was their crime scene. Greg and Maddie followed him. "So what do we got?" Grissom asked Maddie.

"Don't you know who lives here?"

"No, but I'm guessing it's someone important for you to be up this late."

"It is. Try the Honorable Harold J. Walker III."

"Is he the victim or the suspect?" Grissom asked.

"The victim, which is why I requested you. You're the only one I can trust. Starting now, I want you to make this case your number one priority."

"I'll try, Maddie."

"I don't want you to try, Gil. I just want you to do it. Don't make today the day you finally let me down."

As the three entered the house, Greg commented, "You know I hear they call Judge Walker 'Hang 'Em Harry' because of all the defendants he's sent to death row."

"Greg, Nevada hasn't used hanging as a form of execution since 1921," Grissom told him.

Greg stopped and pointed upwards. Grissom looked in that direction and saw Judge Harold J. Walker III hanging from a noose that was attached to the second story banister. Greg then said, "Tell that to Hang 'Em Harry."

* * *

"Mommy!" Connor exclaimed, as he sat up in his father's desk chair and looked around the office.

"She's still not here yet," Catherine told the boy.

"Where's my dad?" Connor asked, rubbing his eyes.

"He had to go to a crime scene."

"Oh," Connor said, as his bottom lip began to tremble.

Catherine, seeing that Connor was about to start crying, asked, "Did you have another nightmare?"

"Uh-huh."

"Was it about the bad lady?"

"Uh-huh."

"Connor, I don't know what you've heard about the bad lady and about what she did to your mom, but you should know that your mom is a survivor and that she fought really, really hard to make it out of that whole situation alive. She did things I'm not even sure most of us could do."

"Like what?"

"Like she broke her way out of a locked trunk. She fought with Natalie while she was driving. She jumped out of a moving car. She found a way to get out from under the second car in the desert, even though she was drugged, both of her arms were pinned, and the car was filling up with water. She made a sling out of her shirt for her broken arm, and she even left us a trail of rocks to follow when she went looking for a road."

"Like Hansel and Gretel?"

"Yes, just like Hansel and Gretel. Do you remember what happened to the bad lady in Hansel and Gretel?"

Connor nodded. "Gretel traps her in the oven, and then she and Hansel go find their father."

"Well, in your mom's story, the bad lady gets trapped, too, although it's in a mental hospital, not in an oven."

"But what if she gets out of the hospital?"

"She's not going to."

"But what if she does?"

"Then your mom is going to fight every bit as hard as she did before, maybe even harder, because now she has you, your sister, and your father to go home to."

"Then will she get to live happily ever after like Hansel and Gretel?"

"I sure hope so, Connor."

"So do I." When Sara walked in a few minutes later, Connor jumped up out of the chair and ran to her. "Mom!" he cried, as he wrapped his arms around her waist.

Sara hugged him back and apologized for her absence. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here when you got here."

"It's okay. You're here now," Connor replied, hugging her tighter.

Sara looked around the office and realized her husband was nowhere in sight. "Where's Grissom?" she asked Catherine.

"He had to go to a crime scene."

"He just left Connor?"

"He didn't want to. He didn't have a choice."

"Sure he did. He could have sent you in his place."

"No, he couldn't. Ecklie called. He said Madeline Klein wanted him and only him."

"Madeline Klein. Is she still the Deputy D.A.?"

"Yep."

"I remember her. I don't think she likes me very much."

"I don't think she likes any of us very much. She just likes Gil."

Sara looked down at Connor. "Are you hungry?" she asked him.

"A little," Connor answered.

"Well, Nick and I were about to go eat something in the break room. What do you say you come with us, and then you can tell me all about your bad dreams?"

"Okay. Can I bring Pookie?"

"Of course." Connor ran and got his teddy bear out of his father's chair and then ran back to Sara. "Let's go," he told her.

Sara started out of the room with Connor but then stopped to speak to Catherine. "Thanks for watching him," she told Catherine.

"You're welcome," Catherine responded.

Sara gave her a half-smile before she turned to leave. As Catherine watched Sara and Connor walk towards the break room, she thought, well at least that's a start.


	78. Chapter 78

"Can I sit in your lap?" Connor asked Sara when they got to the break room.

"Aren't you getting a little too old for that?" Sara asked him in turn, as she walked over to the fridge and got out her food.

"No," Connor answered .

"Well, in that case, yes, you can sit in my lap." Sara put her bag of food and bottled water on the table and then sat down in one of the chairs. Connor climbed into her lap and waited for her to take out the food. "Do you want half of my sandwich? It's peanut butter and jelly," Sara asked him. Connor nodded and reached for half. Sara gave it to him and then pushed the bag of baby carrots towards him. "Take some of the carrots."

"Nuh-uh," Connor responded. "Carrots are gross."

"Yeah, well, they're good for your eyes so do me a favor and take some," Sara said, as she gave Connor a paper towel to put them on.

Connor sighed, begrudgingly took a few of the carrots out of the bag, and placed them on the paper towel. He then took a bite of the sandwich and asked, "Where's Nick?"

"He had to get all of the evidence out of the car."

"Do you usually help him with that?"

"Usually."

"So why aren't you helping him tonight?"

"Because Nick told me to go ahead in and make sure you were okay."

"Oh," Connor said. He took another bite of sandwich and chewed it. He then asked, "Mom?"

"Yeah, baby."

"Why did you call Dad Grissom when you were talking to Catherine?"

"Because that's his name."

"Yeah, his last name. You call him Gil at home."

"That's true. I do."

"So why do you call him by his last name at work?"

"I don't know. I guess because that's what everyone else calls him."

"But Grissom is your last name, too, and mine."

"I know, but it wasn't always. My last name was Sidle before I married your dad, and yours was Barrett before we went to court and got it changed."

"So does everyone call you Sidle?"

"No, they call me Sara."

"Do they call me Grissom?"

"No, honey, they call you Connor."

"So why don't they call Dad by his first name, too?"

"I don't know. Some people call him by his first name."

"Like who?"

"Like Catherine, Jim, and Ecklie."

"Is that it?"

"I think so."

"So everyone else just calls him Grissom?"

"Pretty much."

"But why?"

"I guess because they think he looks more like a Grissom than a Gil."

"Well, that's stupid. How does someone like a Grissom?"

"I don't know. They just do."

"Do I look like a Grissom?'

"Well, you do look like your father."

"So does that mean when I'm older people are going to call me Grissom instead of Connor?"

"I don't know, honey. They might."

"But what about Ava? She looks more like you than Dad."

"Yes, she does."

"So will people call her Sidle instead of Grissom?"

"I don't know. Probably not."

"But why?"

"Because they won't know she is a Sidle."

"Why not?"

"Because it's not her last name."

"So then she'll probably just be called Ava?"

"Probably."

"But I still could be called Grissom?"

"Maybe. Why all the questions? Do you not want people to call you Grissom?"

Connor shrugged. "I don't care. I just want to know if they're going to do it, that's all."

"Oh." Sara worked on her half of the sandwich for a minute before asking Connor, "So do you want to tell me about your nightmares?"

"I already told you about them. They were about the bad lady."

"But you didn't tell me the details. Were all the dreams the same?"

"Sort of," Connor said, as he played with his carrots.

Sara put her hand on his. "Do you want to tell me what 'sort of' is?"

Connor pushed the carrots away, turned around in Sara's lap, and laid his head on her chest. "I kept dreaming that the bad lady took you out to the desert but different things happened to you each time."

"Like what?"

"Like one time a coyote ate you."

"Honey, coyotes rarely attack humans. They usually just eat small animals."

"So? One still ate you in my dream."

Sara thought back to that night in the desert. A coyote had come up and sniffed her hand when she was under the car. Although intellectually she had known that the coyote was probably not going to hurt her, instinctually she had reacted the same as Connor--she had been afraid that the coyote was going to attack. Sara sighed at the memory and laid her head on Connor's. "So what happened in the other ones?"

"One time you drowned. One time the bad lady shot you, and one time you fell asleep and Dad couldn't wake you up when he found you."

"Sweetie, you do know that none of that ever happened, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So it's not going to happen in the future either."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do."

"But how can you know that?"

"I just do."

Connor snickered at Sara's answer. "That's what Dad said, too. It's a stupid answer."

"Okay. So how's this for a better answer? No one is ever going to make me leave you again. Not Natalie. Not Michael. Not anyone. You're stuck with me, kid, so get used to it."

"That's a little bit better," Connor admitted. "Do I really have to eat the carrots?"

"No, I guess you don't."

"Can I get a cookie out of the snack machine instead?"

Sara looked down at Connor. She figured he could use a cookie after the night he had had. "Sure. Just let me go get some change out of my locker."

"Do you want me to get you one?"

"You might as well," Sara answered him. She figured she could use a cookie, too.

* * *

Grissom stood back and watched Greg and Dave hoist Judge Walker's body over the banister. He knew that he should be thinking about the case, but he was finding it hard to concentrate. His mind was still back at the lab. He couldn't stop thinking about his son. He had left him alone in the chair with only a teddy bear to comfort him. He worried about what Connor would do if he had another nightmare and woke up to find that neither he nor Sara was there to tell him that everything was going to be okay. While he knew that Catherine was perfectly capable of telling Connor the same thing, he also knew that the effect on Connor would not be the same. Kids wanted their parents when they had nightmares, not some strange lady they hardly even knew.

Grissom also couldn't stop thinking about Sara. She was already angry with him for broaching the topic of antidepressants earlier that evening. He knew that she would be downright irate if she discovered that he had left Connor with Catherine.

"So?" Maddie's voice broke through Grissom's reverie and brought his mind back to the crime scene at hand.

He looked over at the Deputy DA and asked, "Did you say something?"

"I asked if it was murder or suicide."

"Oh."

"So which is it?"

Grissom looked over at the body. "I don't know yet."

"So when are you going to know?"

"When I do."

Maddie looked over at Grissom. She could tell that he was thinking about something other than Judge Walker's untimely death, and she thought that she knew what or whom that something was. "You know I called you several times after you left town," she said.

"No, I didn't know that," Grissom admitted.

"I left several messages on your voice mail."

"I didn't get them."

"That's odd." Maddie studied him for a few minutes before she said, "What happened to Warrick Brown, it wasn't your fault."

"I didn't say it was."

"You didn't have to. I know how you think, but you can't keep letting what happened to him affect your work."

"I didn't know that I was."

"And that's what scares me the most. Look at you, Gil. You're a mess. When's the last time you shaved?"

Grissom reached up and stroked the stubble on his face. He hadn't shaved since Sara left last November. "What's wrong with having a beard?" he asked Maddie.

"Nothing, if you're a lumberjack. And what, pray tell, is that on your shoulder?" Maddie asked, as she pointed to the white substance on his shirt.

Grissom looked at his shoulder and sighed. He supposed the matter was baby spittle. He had fed and burped Ava while Sara soaked in the tub. Apparently, some of the milk had come back up. He would have to remember to put a towel on his shoulder next time. Rather than admit to his novel mistake, he simply told Maddie, "I don't know."

"Which is the problem. You're usually a little more meticulous with your appearance. And why aren't you over there helping with the body?"

"Because I don't usually do the heavy lifting."

"Maybe not physically, but mentally you do. Usually by now, you would have pointed out ten different things on the body that suggested cause of death. Instead, you're just standing here, staring into space."

"I'm tired, Maddie. I haven't been sleeping much lately."

"Which is understandable. If something had happened to one of my guys, I probably wouldn't be sleeping either, but he's okay now, Gil. Warrick is okay. You've got to let it go."

Grissom frowned. He didn't want to talk to Maddie about Warrick, and he didn't have the energy to explain to her the real reason he wasn't sleeping, so instead he just excused himself to make a phone call.

"Hi, Catherine, it's Gil. Is Connor still asleep?"

* * *

"Do you really have to put all this glass back together?" Connor asked Sara, as he looked at all of the tiny glass fragments that his mother had placed on the table in front of them. He had become Sara's second shadow since they had left the break room. She had tried to talk him into going back to the office with Catherine, but he had refused and begged her to let him watch her work instead. While Sara had figured that she was breaking some type of lab protocol by allowing him to watch her process evidence, she had nevertheless consented and given him a lab coat and a pair of latex gloves to put on. He was now sitting next to her on a stool, holding on tightly to her left arm while she sorted glass fragments with her right.

"Unfortunately," Sara answered Connor.

"Why?"

"Because I need to know whether someone broke the window from inside or outside the house."

"Why does that matter?"

"Because sometimes people say that someone broke into their house and committed a crime when the truth is that no one broke in and they committed the crime themselves."

"How will you be able to tell that from the glass?"

Sara got up, retrieved a pen and piece of paper from one of the other tables, and then sat back down by Connor. She put the paper in front of him and drew a straight line. "Ok. Let's say this is your window. If you hit the window from this side," Sara said, pointing at the left side of the straight line, "the elasticity of the glass causes it to bend in this direction." Sara drew a new line that curved outward to the right.

"Glass is elastic like pants?" Connor asked.

Sara laughed. "Sort of, but it won't stretch nearly as far."

"It'd be funny if it did. Then people could wear glass pants."

"Yes, I guess they could."

"They still probably wouldn't be very comfortable though."

"Probably not."

"Plus, they'd be see-through so everyone would see your underwear."

"That's a very good point. They would."

"I don't want to see other people's underwear."

"You know what? Neither do I. So back to window, when the glass stretches as far it can, it starts to crack on the side opposite from where you hit it."

"So if I hit it on this side," Connor said, pointing to the left side of the straight line, "it would crack on this side," Connor finished, pointing the right.

"Exactly." Sara drew a small circle and then several small lines that extended outwards from the circle. "Now let's say this circle is where you hit the window. Those first cracks form radial lines that extend outwards from the point of impact, kind of like the spokes on a wagon wheel."

"But they're still on the opposite side, right?"

"Right."

"But won't those cracks eventually break all the way through the glass?"

"Probably."

"So if they break all the way through the glass, how are you going to know which side of the glass they started on?"

"That's a very good question." Sara used tweezers to pick up a piece of broken glass from the table and held it up to the light. "Do you see those little lines right there on the edge of the glass?" Sara asked Connor, as she pointed to the curved markings.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, those are called stress lines. Do you see how they curve upwards on one side, almost parallel with the side of the glass?"

"What does parallel mean?"

"Alongside, kind of like two lowercase L's."

"Okay. I see it."

"And do you see how on the other side the stress lines are almost perpendicular with the side of the glass?"

"What's perpendicular?"

"At a right angle, like an uppercase L."

"Oh. Okay. I see it."

"Well, in a radial fracture the stress lines form right angles on the side opposite from where you hit the glass."

"So since the lines form a backwards big L on that side," Connor said, pointing to the right side of the edge of the glass fragment that Sara was holding, "that means someone hit the glass on that side," Connor finished, pointing to the left side of fragment.

"Exactly."

"Cool." Sara put the piece of glass back down on the table, as Connor looked again at all the glass fragments. "This is going to take you forever," he commented.

"That's probably true."

"I thought Nick was going to help you."

"So did I."

"So where is he?"

"That's a very good question."

"What's a very good question?" Nick asked, as he came into the room with one hand behind his back.

"Where you went," Connor answered.

"I went to get this," Nick said, holding a black CSI baseball cap out to Connor and Sara.

Sara, looking puzzlingly at the baseball cap, responded, "Thanks, Nick, but I already have a cap."

"I didn't get it for you. I got it for him," Nick retorted, as he gave Connor the cap. "Put it on," he told Connor. Connor did as directed. "Now you've got the lab coat, the gloves, and the hat. I believe that officially makes you an honorary CSI for the night."

"Cool," Connor said. "Thanks, Nick."

"Yeah, thanks, Nick," Sara added.

"You're welcome." Nick looked at Connor for a minute and then addressed Sara. "You know, it's scary. If you put some reading glasses on him right now, he'd look exactly like Grissom."

"Why is that scary?" Connor asked Nick. "Dad's not scary."

"You're right. He's not," Nick admitted.

"Honey, Nick didn't mean like 'ooh, I'm scared of you' scary. He meant uncanny scary," Sara said, trying to explain what Nick meant by the statement.

"What does uncanny mean?" Connor asked.

Before Sara could explain further, Catherine came into the room and handed Sara her phone. "It's Gil," she told her.

Sara looked down at the phone. "Right. My battery is still dead." She looked over at Nick. "Why don't you explain to Connor what uncanny means, and I'll go take this in the hall."

"Will do," Nick responded.

Sara got up from her stool and walked out into the hallway. "What's wrong now?" she asked Grissom on the phone.

"Nothing," Grissom answered "Should something be wrong?"

"No. I just didn't think you called to say hello."

"I didn't. I called to check on Connor. Catherine said he's awake."

"Yes, he is."

"How mad are you that I left?"

"I'm not."

"Are you sure because you don't sound happy?"

"I'm not happy that you left, but I'm not mad either. I get it. You didn't have a choice."

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to leave him."

"I'm sure you didn't."

The two were silent for a minute before Grissom said, "Look. I was thinking since Connor is already going to be playing hooky from school today, maybe I could call Rachel and ask her to bring Ava by at the end of shift, and the four of us could go to breakfast together."

Sara turned around and looked at Connor. "I'd like that. I'm sure Connor would, too."

"Good." Grissom paused for a moment and then continued. "I am sorry, Sara," he told her.

"I know. I'll, um, see you when you get back."

Sara hung up the phone and walked back into the room. Grissom wasn't the only one who was sorry about recent events. She handed Catherine her phone and said, "Thanks. I don't know what's wrong with mine. I'm going to get a new battery, see if that helps."

"No problem," Catherine responded. She looked as if she were about to say something else to Sara, but then she changed her mind and started out of the room.

"Catherine, wait," Sara said, going after her. Catherine stopped in the hallway and waited for Sara to catch up with her. "I, um, I just wanted to say that you're not the only one who said things yesterday that she didn't mean."

"It's okay. I deserved it."

"Maybe, but I still shouldn't have said what I did, and I'm sorry."

"Thanks."

Sara looked behind her and saw that Connor was watching her. She held up a finger and then turned back to Catherine. "I should probably get back in there. He tends to get antsy if I'm out of his sight for more than a few minutes."

"Sure." Catherine started to walk away but stopped again when Sara addressed her.

"I just want you to know that I'm trying here."

"I know, Sara. So am I."

Sara nodded and went back into the room with Connor and Nick. Catherine stood there for a moment and watched as Connor reattached himself to Sara's left arm. She then turned and went back to her office alone.

* * *

Greg had been unusually quiet all night. Grissom assumed that the fight they had about Sara had something to do with his uncharacteristic silence. When they got back into the SUV to return to the lab, he finally decided to confront Greg about it.

"So do you want to talk about it?" he asked Greg.

"About what?" Greg asked back.

"About the fight."

"What's there to talk about? You hit me. I hit you. What else is there to say?"

"How about I'm sorry?"

"Are you?"

"Yes. 'In violence we forget who we are.' I forgot that I was your boss."

"Did you forget that you were Sara's husband, too?"

"No, I never forgot that."

"Well, then that makes what you did to her that much worse."

"Yes, I suppose it does."

Greg was quiet as Grissom started the car. Then he asked, "What's the deal between you and the Deputy DA?"

"What do you mean what's the deal?"

"I mean what's your relationship with her?"

"She's my friend, Greg. We work together. That's it."

"Does she know that?"

"I would assume so." Greg made a noise under his breath. Grissom looked over at him. "What was that about?" he asked.

"Nothing," Greg mumbled, slumping in his seat.

"Greg."

Greg sighed and sat up. "I was watching the way Maddie Klein looked at you tonight. It wasn't the way a friend or a colleague looks at another friend or colleague."

"She was just concerned about me."

"Was that all it was?"

"Yes, that was all it was."

Greg shook his head and looked out the window before he said, "You weren't the only one who lost her, you know."

"I know."

"So just don't hurt her again. I'm not so sure she could survive it this time."

"I don't plan on it."

"Good, but just know that if you change your mind, if you even think about doing something with Lady Heather or Maddie Klein or any other woman for that matter, that fight we had earlier…well, let's just say that it's going to look like a slap on the wrist compared to the type of misery that I'm going to bring down on you."

"Duly noted," Grissom said and pulled out of the judge's driveway.

* * *

Sara sat on one of the couches in the break room, stroking her son's hair. He had been right about the broken glass. It had taken them forever to reconstruct the window. Eventually, Connor's patience had run out, and he had asked her if he could go lie down. Nick graciously had offered to finish the glass on his own so Sara had followed her son into the break room. Connor had fallen asleep not five minutes after he had laid his head in her lap. Now in the quiet, semi-darkened room she was struggling not to follow suit.

Sara looked up when she heard someone walk into the room.

"Hey," Warrick said, as he sat in one of the chairs that had been placed cattycornered to the couch.

"Hey, you're finally back," Sara responded, as she rubbed her eyes in an effort to wake herself up.

"Yeah. I heard Ecklie hired a new CSI while I was gone," Warrick said, nodding in Connor's direction.

Sara looked down at her son before answering. "Yeah, he's getting them straight out of elementary school now. Easier to brainwash."

"I guess that explains the outfit."

Sara laughed. Connor had fallen asleep wearing the oversized lab coat, baseball cap, and latex gloves that he had been wearing earlier. "Yeah, I couldn't get him to take it off."

"Here," Warrick said, as he handed Sara a blanket. "I thought you might need this."

"Thanks," Sara replied. She unfolded the blanket and laid it over Connor. She then watched as Warrick leaned forward and rubbed at his neck. Remembering what Nick had told her, she asked, "Are you sure you don't need it?"

"Nah, I'm good," he answered.

"Are you sure? You look tired."

"It's been a long night."

"Bad scene?"

"No, just time consuming."

"How's it going with your new partner?"

"Who, Ronnie?" Warrick asked. Sara nodded. "It's going okay. She's very…inquisitive."

"You mean she never stops asking questions."

Warrick laughed at Sara's interpretation. "That, too."

"I'd like to tell you that you get used to it after awhile, but you don't. Just tell her she gets 20 questions per case. That's what I did. It seemed to help."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Look, um, Nick told me about what happened to you back in May, about the shooting."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for that."

"It's okay. You didn't know."

"But I should have. If I had never left, I would have known. I would have been here."

"Sara, you were with your kids. You were where you were supposed to be."

"I'm still sorry." Sara watched as Warrick continued to rub at his neck. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Warrick stopped rubbing his neck. "Yeah, it just hurts sometimes."

"I bet. You know, Nick says you're a living miracle."

"I don't know if I'd go that far."

"I would. You were shot in the neck. You were in a coma for how long?"

"A month."

"A month," Sara repeated, shaking her head. "You had to learn how to walk again. If that's not a miracle, I don't know what is."

"How about you, Little Miss I Was Kidnapped by a Serial Killer and Lived to Tell About It? I'd say that you being here right now is a miracle, too." Sara shrugged in response. "You know, I was thinking you, me, Nick, and Greg ought to start our own club."

"What, like a survivor's club?"

"Something like that. We could get T-shirts made, come up with a secret handshake, maybe even build a clubhouse."

"Where, in a tree in the backyard?"

"Maybe."

"Sounds like fun." Sara frowned, as she continued to think about how close Warrick had come to dying. "Just so you know, if you ever get shot again without telling me, I'll shoot you myself."

Warrick laughed and said, "Good to know."

"I'm serious, Warrick. Don't go dying on me."

"I don't plan on it."


	79. Chapter 79

"So this is where you've been hiding," Wendy told Hodges, as she stood in the doorway of the trace lab.

Hodges glanced over at her and responded, "It is where I work."

"I know, but usually you've come out of here by now."

"I'm busy," Hodges explained, as he returned to looking in the eyepiece of his microscope. "Besides, why should I leave this room? You're not speaking to me, remember?"

"Like you've ever let that stop you." Wendy walked into the lab and sat down on the stool next to Hodges. She then asked, "Did you know that Connor was here?"

"Yeah. I saw him walk by," Hodges answered. He removed the slide from the microscope and replaced it with another.

"And you didn't do anything about it?"

"No. Was I supposed to?"

"No, but I just didn't think that you'd pass up the chance to harass Sara over it. I figured you'd say something snarky to her about Connor being here on a school night or try to sneak a sample of his DNA or something."

"The thought never crossed my mind."

"Really?"

Hodges sighed and looked over at Wendy. "Yes, really. I'm trying to respect the boss's wishes."

"Hmm," Wendy said. She studied Hodges for a few minutes, as she tried to determine if he was telling her the truth. Deciding that he was, she asked, "Do you want to get something to eat later?"

Hodges, surprised by Wendy's query, nearly knocked over the microscope in response.

"Is that a yes?" she asked him with a laugh.

Before Hodges could answer, Archie came into the room. "Hey, guys. Have you checked your email lately?" Archie asked them.

"Not in the last hour," Wendy answered. "Why?"

"There's an email going around that you've got to see."

Hodges walked over to his computer and sat down. Wendy and Archie followed him. As Hodges pulled up Microsoft Outlook, he told Archie, "If this is another one of those emails that I have to send to 10 people so I don't die or get cursed with seven years of bad luck or so I can win the lottery, you should know that I'm not in the mood."

"It's not. Trust me. You'll be in the mood for this one."

"How do you even know I got it?"

"Because I forwarded you a copy just in case." Archie pointed at an email on the screen. "That one right there."

Hodges opened the email and saw nothing that impressed him. "I don't get it," he told Archie and Wendy.

"That's because you haven't opened the attachment yet."

"Right. I open the attachment ,and my whole computer crashes. Funny, Archie. Very funny," Hodges said. He started to exit out of Outlook, but Archie stopped him.

"It's not going to crash your computer," Archie told him. Hodges glanced back at Archie in response. "I swear. Just open it."

Hodges turned back to the computer and clicked on the attachment. "Fine, but if all hell breaks loose, I'm telling Grissom it was your fault."

A grainy video of Nick singing to Sara at the Davidson crime scene began to play.

"Is that who I think that is?" Wendy asked Archie.

"It sure is," Archie responded.

"When was it taken?" Hodges asked.

"Supposedly today," Archie answered. Wendy started laughing when Nick got down on his knees and grabbed Sara's hand. "See. I told you that you'd be in the mood for this."

As Nick continued to serenade Sara in the video, Hodges muttered, "Interesting. Very interesting."

* * *

"So have you talked to Catherine yet?" Sara asked Warrick. Connor whimpered in his sleep and kicked the blanket that Warrick had given Sara onto the floor.

"No," Warrick answered. He then got up from his chair, retrieved the blanket, and gave it back to Sara.

"Thanks," Sara said. She placed the blanket back on top of Connor, while Warrick sat back down. "Are you going to?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe it wasn't what you thought."

"Sara, I saw them kissing, and then I saw Catherine take Adam Novak by the hand and lead him into her mother's hotel room. That doesn't lead a lot of room for interpretation."

"No, I guess it doesn't. Maybe they didn't go through with it."

"Maybe. It still doesn't change the fact that she lead him up there with every intention to."

"No, I guess it doesn't."

"Hey, do you think maybe we can change the subject? I just really don't want to think about any of that right now."

"Think about any of what?" Greg asked, as he came into the room and sat in the chair opposite Warrick's.

Warrick looked over at Sara, who raised her eyebrows in response, and then over at Greg. Rather than tell Greg about Catherine and Adam Novak, he said, "Uh, about how much work I've got to do."

"Join the club," Greg replied. "At least you've got a partner to help you out."

"What, are you flying solo tonight?" Warrick asked.

"No, worse. I'm flying with Grissom."

'What's so bad about that?"

"Uh, try he didn't do anything but stand there all night, while I did all the dirty work."

"Really? That doesn't sound like Grissom."

"Well, maybe he's turning over a new leaf, or maybe he just doesn't like working with me. I've been in the field for how many years now, and Grissom still treats me like a clueless rookie."

"Do you want me to talk to him about it?" Sara asked.

"No, it'll just make him worse," Greg said. When Greg's cell phone subsequently beeped, he shook his head in frustration and retrieved it from his belt clip. "That's probably Grissom right now telling me to pull a double so he can go home for the rest of the day." As he pressed the buttons to view his text message, he told Sara, "You know, I blame you for that."

"Thanks, Greg. I appreciate that."

"Uh-huh," Greg mumbled, reading the text message before opening the video attachment.

When Warrick heard the singing on the video, he asked, "Did Grissom send you a video?"

"No, Sofia did."

Warrick listened a few seconds more and then said, "That sounds an awful lot like--"

"Oh, no," Sara interrupted, as she realized what the video depicted.

"Nick," Warrick finished.

* * *

Hodges saw Grissom walking down the hallway. He got up from his stool and ran out in the hall to get his attention. "Hey, boss," he said, calling after Grissom.

Grissom stopped and turned around. "Yes, Hodges," he replied.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

Grissom checked his watch. Rachel would be showing up with Ava soon. "Sure, just make it quick."

"I think it would probably be better if we talked about it in there," Hodges said, pointing back at his office.

"Fine," Grissom said. He followed Hodges into the trace lab. "So what do you want to talk about?"

Hodges walked over to his computer and stated, "I thought you might want to see this."

Grissom walked over to Hodges's computer, expecting to see something related to a case. Instead, he was presented with the video of Nick and Sara.

"I know you said to lay off Sara, and I have, but then Archie sent me this, and I just thought…Well, I thought if I were you, I'd want to know," Hodges explained.

Grissom watched the video in silence. He wasn't so sure he agreed.

* * *

"Do you really have to watch it again?" Sara asked. Greg and Warrick had just finished their third viewing of the video and were talking about going for a fourth. Sara stood behind them, watching as well.

"Yes, I believe we do," Greg answered.

"Sorry, Sara, but it gets funnier every time we watch it," Warrick added.

"Swell," Sara said, crossing her arms in frustration.

As Warrick and Greg started laughing again, Connor sat up on the sofa and asked, "Mommy?"

"I'm right here, Connor," Sara answered.

"What's so funny?" Connor asked, rubbing his eyes.

"It's nothing."

Connor got up from the sofa and walked over to Sara, Warrick, and Greg. "What are you watching?" he asked them.

"Your mom," Greg replied.

"Huh?" Connor asked, unsure of what Greg meant.

"Come here," Greg said, as he slid over in the chair and motioned for Connor to sit beside him. Once Connor sat down, Greg hit a few buttons on his phone and said, "Wait. Let me get it back to the beginning so you can get the full effect."

As the video began to play for the fifth time, Connor asked, "Is that Nick?"

"Yep," Greg answered.

"Why is he singing to Mom?"

"Supposedly, he was trying to cheer her up."

Connor watched for another minute and then said, "What a dork."

"Truer words have never been spoken."

When Nick walked in a few minutes later, everyone but Sara laughed.

"What?" Nick asked, not getting the joke.

* * *

Grissom stood outside the break room, watching Sara with Nick, Greg, Warrick, and Connor. The distance and the glass wall between them made it difficult for him to hear what they were saying or to read their lips, but he could make out some of the words and what was going on.

Greg was asking Nick something. "Did…think…time…practice…idol?"

Nick sat down beside Sara on the sofa and put one of his arms around her shoulders. "No…thought…time…declare…love…Sara…world."

Sara grabbed his other hand. "Hodges…right…secret…years."

Nick then looked at Sara and said, "Now…knows…weekend…fly…Republic…divorce…married."

Warrick asked them, "Do…best…man?"

Nick responded, "Yes…Greg…Sara's…maid."

Greg shook his head and said, "No…pink…dress…not…color."

Sara looked over at him, laughed, and asked, "How…red?"

"Are you going to go in, or are you just going to stand out here and watch?" Catherine asked him, as she walked up to him in the hallway.

"I think I'll just stand here for awhile," he answered.

"Suit yourself." She stood beside him for a moment and watched the team joking around inside. "I don't blame you really. Some days I still feel like those four have their own secret club going on, and they're not accepting new members." She watched as Sara laughed at something Nick said and pushed him away from her. "She's laughing."

"I know."

"That's a good thing, right? It means she's getting better."

"I suppose it does."

"So why don't you seem happy about that fact?"

"I am happy."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. It's just…he makes her laugh."

Catherine looked over at Grissom and asked, "Who, Nick?" Grissom nodded. "And that's a bad thing why?"

"Because I don't, at least not anymore."

"With all due respect, Gil, there's a good reason for that. Sara didn't come home one day and find Nick in bed with another woman."

"I know." Grissom watched Sara laugh again. He then said sadly, " 'To jealousy, nothing is more frightful than laughter.' "

Catherine, surprised by the admission, looked again at Grissom. "Don't tell me you're jealous of Nick." Grissom shrugged. "Come on, Gil. You've got to know that there's nothing going on between the two of them." Grissom didn't say anything. He just continued to stare forward. "Where is all of this coming from anyway? Have you been talking to Hodges again?" Catherine asked him.

"He showed me a video."

"A video? Of what?"

"Of Nick and Sara."

Catherine considered the possibilities. "Please tell me it wasn't a sex tape."

"It wasn't."

"Then what could have possibly been in it to put you in this much of a funk?"

"He was singing to her."

"Singing? That's it?" Grissom nodded slightly. "You're upset that Nick was singing to Sara?"

"It wasn't just that Nick was singing to her, Catherine. It was the way he was singing."

"The way, huh?" Catherine looked at Nick and Sara. She just wasn't seeing what Grissom was seeing. "Look, Gil. Now I admit that I haven't seen this video, but I do know Nick, and I do know Sara, and I can tell you with the utmost confidence that there's nothing going on between them." Grissom was silent. Catherine could tell from the expression on his face that he wasn't convinced. She tried one more time to reassure him. "Seriously, Gil, you have nothing to worry about."

As Grissom continued to watch his wife interact with his team, he thought to himself, I wish I could be so sure.

* * *

Grissom had stood in the hallway a little while longer, watching Sara. He could see glimpses of the old Sara, the one he had met at that conference 10 years earlier, finally peeking through the darkness. He knew he should be happy about that fact, and part of him was happy. He wanted Sara to get better. He wanted her to do whatever she needed to do to be whole again, but a part of him--the part that realized Nick could make her laugh when he couldn't--couldn't help but wonder whether that whatever involved him.

When he had finally returned to his office, Grissom had found Maddie sitting at his desk.

Holding up the book he had been reading earlier, she said, "Dealing with Depression Naturally, huh? Well, at least you're taking some of my advice."

Grissom took the book out of her hand and shoved it in the bottom drawer of desk. He then told Maddie, "If you're here to ask me if I've solved the case yet, my answer is still the same as it was an hour ago: no."

Maddie got up and gave Grissom his chair back. "No, I didn't come here for that."

Grissom sat down and asked, "Then what did you come here for?"

Maddie leaned against the desk. "I came to apologize. I was a little harsh on you earlier, and I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"No, it's not, and I want to make it up to you."

Grissom started straightening the piles of paperwork on his desk so that he could leave when Ava and Rachel arrived. "And how do you propose to do that?"

"By taking you to breakfast. What do you say?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I just can't," Grissom said, as he took out his wallet. He silently counted the cash inside. He had been using his credit cards far too much lately, so he wanted to make sure that he had enough money on him to take Sara and the kids to breakfast.

Maddie, watching Grissom count his money, said, "Don't worry about the money. Gil. It's my treat. You paid the last time."

"I'm not worried about the money," Grissom replied, as he stuck his wallet back in his pocket.

"Then if it's not the money, what is it? Are you going out with the team?'

"No."

"Well, then is it the beard comment? Because if it is, it's not that bad. Some women actually like a little scruff," Maddie said. She then reached over and stroked his beard to emphasize the fact.

Grissom, surprised by Maddie's actions, jumped at her touch. He then slid his chair away from her just as he heard someone clear their throat from the door. Hoping to see Catherine standing in the doorway, Grissom saw Sara, Connor, and Ava instead.

Sara was no longer smiling. "Are we interrupting?" she asked Grissom and Maddie.

Grissom attempted to answer her, as Maddie turned around to face the doorway. "No, we were just, um, talking," he said.

"I can see that."

Maddie, not yet realizing what was going on, asked, "It's Sara, right?"

"Right," Sara answered.

"I thought you left Vegas."

"I did."

"But now you're back."

"That I am."

Maddie looked at Ava and Connor before stating, "And apparently you came back with kids."

"Apparently."

"How does that happen?"

"It's called reproduction."

"Reproduction," Maddie repeated. "That's cute." Maddie walked up to Connor and asked, "Speaking of cute, who are you?"

"Connor," Connor answered.

"Connor what?"

Connor, sensing the tension in the room, quietly answered, "Connor Gilbert Grissom."

"Connor Gilbert Grissom," Maddie repeated. She looked from Connor to Grissom, as she realized whose child he was. Already guessing the answer to her next question, Maddie nevertheless turned back to Sara and Connor, pointed at Ava, and asked, "And she is?"

"Ava Gillian Grissom," Sara replied.

"Oh," Maddie said. She looked back at Grissom, who nodded, and then back at Sara and the kids. "Oh."

Sara held up her left hand, showing Maddie the wedding band on her ring finger. "And I'm his wife, in case you missed that part."

"Oh," Maddie said again. "I, uh, I should really start listening to office gossip more."

"That you should."

Maddie grabbed her briefcase out of one of the spare chairs and said, "I'm just going to leave."

Sara stopped her. "No, don't. You should stay and talk. We'll leave."

As Sara steered Connor out of the room, Grissom stood up and said, "Sara, wait." Sara, however, kept on walking. Grissom, realizing the kind of trouble that he was in, slowly sank back down in his chair.

Maddie turned to him, her face red with embarrassment. "Well, at least now I know why you didn't want to go to breakfast."


	80. Chapter 80

Sara walked in a daze to the locker room. She and the kids had made it all the way to her car before she had realized that she had left her keys and driver's license inside the lab. She hadn't bothered to retrieve her things out of her locker after Judy had called the extension in the break room and told her that Rachel was in the lobby with Ava. She had figured that Grissom wasn't quite ready to leave yet or he would have met Rachel himself. She had stopped by his office to see how much longer he would be. She hadn't expected to see the Deputy DA sitting on the edge of his desk, stroking his beard. She hadn't expected to hear her say, "Some women like a little scruff."

The statement kept playing over and over again in Sara's head as she navigated the building, another anthem of her husband's infidelity. Every time she turned a corner, she half expected to see Grissom and Maddie standing there, waiting for her, laughing at her ignorance. It reminded her of Lady Heather, of New Year's Eve, and of other memories that she would rather forget.

"Mom, who was that woman?" Connor asked, tugging on her shirt.

Ava squirmed in her arms, as if to tell Sara that she wanted an answer to that question, too.

Sara, however, didn't respond. She was too busy remembering.

"_Ritchie, they're doing it again," a 6-year-old Sara said from the doorway of her brother's bedroom. The sound of her parents arguing in the living room had woken her up. She had grabbed her ragged bunny beside her and run to her brother's room, hoping to find as much safety and solace as a 10-year-old could provide._

"_I know," Ritchie replied, as he put down the Superman comic book that he had been reading. Both he and Sara jumped a moment later when they heard what sounded like a lamp breaking in the living room._

"_I'm scared," Sara admitted, her lower lip trembling. _

"_Me, too. Do you want to get under the bed?"_

"_Uh-huh," Sara answered, nodding. _

_Ritchie got up from his bed and lifted up the bed skirt so Sara could crawl under it. After his sister was securely under the bed, he got on his stomach and crawled under the bed as well. Smoothing the bed skirt down, he told Sara, "See. It's all better now."_

_Sara grabbed Ritchie's hand when they heard their father yell, "What did you think was going to happen, Laura? I have needs!" _

"_I can still hear them, Ritchie," Sara whispered._

_Ritchie put one protective arm around Sara and whispered back, "I know. So can I, but at least Dad won't be able to see us under here."_

_Sara looked over at Ritchie and asked, "Who was that woman with Daddy?"_

"_Someone he works with I think her name is Gina."_

"_Why was he kissing her?"_

"_I don't know. I think she might be his girlfriend."_

"_But how can Daddy have a girlfriend? He's still married to Mama."_

"_I don't know, Sara."_

_From the living room, Laura could be heard screaming, "I cook! I clean! I raise your kids, and this is the thanks I get!" _

"_Is that why Mama's so mad?" Sara asked._

"_I think so."_

"_So why is Daddy mad?"_

"_I guess because he got caught."_

_Both Ritchie and Sara looked up when they heard their mother cry out in pain and the sound of her body hitting the living room wall. Sara started to cry, and Ritchie pulled her closer._

"_Are they ever going to stop fighting?" Sara asked her brother between sniffles._

"_I hope so."_

"_Me, too."_

"Mom?" Connor asked again.

"Huh? Did you say something?" Sara asked, as she allowed her mind to return to the present.

"I asked who that woman was in Dad's office?"

Sara shifted Ava to her left arm so that she could turn her lock with her right hand. "Maddie Klein," Sara finally answered him. "She's the Deputy DA."

"Why was she touching Dad's face like that?"

Sara spun the lock and then pulled on the latch. The door wouldn't budge. "I don't know, Connor. Maybe he had something stuck in his beard." She knew that possibility was highly unlikely, but she didn't want to tell her son the real reason the Deputy DA was stroking his father's face. She tried the combination again.

"What did she mean when she said that some women like a little scruff? Does that mean that some women like beards?"

Sara yanked on the latch. The locker still wouldn't open. "Yes, I guess it does," she answered him.

"So then why did she tell Dad that? Does she like him?"

"I don't know, Connor. I guess so," Sara said, as she tried the combination one last time to no avail.

"But she can't like him like him. He's married."

"I'm quite aware of that fact." Frustrated by the situation and by her inability to open the locker, Sara kicked the locker door, an act which, in turn, caused Ava to start crying.

"Is everything all right in here?" Greg asked from the doorway.

Sara rested her forehead against the locker door. "I can't open the damn door," she told him.

"You said a bad word," Connor informed his mother.

Sara turned her head and looked at her son, as her daughter continued to cry in her arms. "I know."

Greg, concerned, walked over to where Sara stood. "Uh, Sara, that's not your locker."

Sara stepped back and looked at the locker that she had been trying to open. Greg was right; it wasn't her locker. "Oh," Sara muttered. Embarrassed by the mistake, she slowly sat down on the bench.

"Here. Let me get it for you," Greg offered. He started to turn to the lock on the adjacent locker.

"How do you know my combination?" Sara asked, patting Ava on the back in an effort to get her to stop crying.

"I brought you your iPod when you were in the hospital, remember? You had left it in your locker that night that, uh,…" Greg said, his voice trailing off when he remembered that Connor was still in the room. He didn't want to bring up Natalie in front of him.

"Right. I had forgotten."

Greg opened the locker, turned around, and said, "Tada."

"Thanks, Greg."

"I live to please."

Greg walked over to his own locker and started working on his own combination. He glanced over and saw that Sara still hadn't gotten up from the bench. Instead, she just stared ahead at the lockers. "Hey, Sara, is everything okay?"

Sara slowly stood up. "Yeah, everything's fine," she answered unenthusiastically.

"Did Hodges break into your locker again? Because if he did, I'd be glad to kick his a--I'd be glad to kick his butt for you."

Sara looked at the contents of her locker. "No, everything seems to be in place."

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Greg. I'm just tired."

"Maybe you should just skip your plans then and go home and sleep."

"How do you know I have plans?"

Greg nodded in Ava's direction. "Well, it was that or Ava's driving you home."

Sara looked down at Ava. "Oh, right."

"So where are you going?"

"We're going to breakfast with Dad," Connor told him.

"Well, that should be fun," Greg told Connor.

"Actually, Connor, we're not going to be doing that," Sara said.

"But you promised!" Connor whined.

"I know I did, but that was before I found out that your father has other plans."

"What plans? Is he going somewhere with that lady?"

"What lady?" Greg asked.

Sara didn't answer either one of them. Connor, however, told Greg, "Maggie Pine."

"Do you mean Maddie Klein?" Greg asked.

"Yeah, her."

Greg looked over at Sara and saw the frown on her face. "How do you know who Maddie Klein is, Connor?" Greg asked.

"I just saw her in Dad's office. She was touching his beard."

"Was she now?" Greg asked. He guessed that explained Sara's mood. "You know what. Why don't the three of you go to breakfast with me?"

"I don't know, Greg," Sara said. "We should probably just go home."

"Oh, come on. You've got to eat. It'll be my treat. Hey, Connor, are you up for McDonald's again?"

"Only if I can play on the playground."

"Well, that is why I picked it. I mean, you can't go to McDonald's and not play on the playground, now can you?"

"No, you can't. Can we go, Mom?"

"I don't know, Connor. You need to get some sleep."

"But Greg's right. We still have to eat. Can we go? Please, please, please."

"Yeah, Mom. Please," Greg said, mimicking Connor.

Sara grabbed her keys and bag. She knew she would be fighting with Grissom later. She didn't want to fight with Greg and Connor, too. "Fine," she said, giving in to their request. "Let's go."

"Yea!" Connor exclaimed. He looked at Greg and said, "I bet I can beat you to the lobby."

"I bet you can't," Greg replied. After Connor took off running, Greg turned to Sara and said, "I figured, based on what Connor just said about Maddie and Grissom, you might want to talk, and the playground provides a pretty good distraction so that can happen."

"Yeah, I guess it does," Sara said, closing her locker. "Thanks, Greg."

"Like I said, I live to please."

* * *

"I am so sorry. I didn't know," Maddie told Grissom after Sara had left the office.

"What, the ring didn't give it away?" Grissom asked. He placed his face in his hands as he contemplated the number of steps backwards that he had just taken with Sara. He could only imagine what she was thinking right now, and it wasn't anything good.

"I didn't see the ring, Gil. I see it now, but I didn't earlier. You had gloves on at the crime scene."

"But you had to know we were together, Maddie. Our relationship was pretty much splattered all over the front page of the Las Vegas Review and the Sun after Sara was rescued."

"Well, of course I knew you _were_ together, 'were' being the operative word. She left you, Gil."

"Yes, she did, and she came back…twice."

"You never said anything."

"I didn't know I was supposed to."

"So how long have the two of you…?"

"Since October."

"October. Really?" Grissom nodded. Maddie shook her head in amazement. "So you're married with children. How does that happen?"

"Like Sara said, reproduction."

"Of course. I know that. I just meant…oh, never mind." Maddie was a quiet for a moment. Then she asked, "So all those times we went out to dinner after she left…?"

"It was just dinner, Maddie."

"Right. I just thought…"

"That it was a date?"

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. You asked me to dinner. I needed to eat. It was as simple as that. I never intended for you to think that something more was going on than it was."

"Well, I always said that you were either the biggest enabler I knew or my soul mate."

"I'm not your soul mate, Maddie."

"Yeah, trust me. I get that now." Maddie took a good long look at the miserable expression on Grissom's face before saying, "You are definitely an enabler."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry. Like I told your wife, I should start listening to office gossip more." She pointed at the door. "I'm just going to go."

"I think that would be for the best."

As Maddie started to walk away, she told Grissom, "I hope you and Sara are able to work things out."

Grissom thought to himself, so do I.

* * *

"So?" Greg asked Sara. He had been watching her push pieces of pancake around in the congealed syrup for the last ten minutes, and he couldn't take the silence or the fidgeting anymore.

"So what?" Sara asked back, making a figure eight in the syrup.

Greg reached over and took the plate from Sara. Sara sighed and put the plastic fork down on the table. "So let's talk about Grissom and Maddie before Connor gets tired of the playground," Greg answered.

Sara started to pick at her cuticles. She didn't want to look Greg in the eye. She didn't want to see the pity that she knew would be reflected there. "What's there to talk about?"

"How about what Connor said? Did you really see Madeline Klein stroking Grissom's face?"

"Yes, I did."

"Did she say anything?"

"Yeah. She said, 'Some women like a little scruff,' and then she reached out and touched his beard."

"Ooh," Greg said, making a face.

"Exactly. Ooh." Sara picked up the fork again and started playing with it, oblivious to the sticky film that it was leaving on her fingers. "Did you know about them?" When Greg didn't immediately answer her, she finally looked at him and asked, "Did you?"

"Yes and no."

"What does that mean, yes and no?"

"It means that before last night I did not know about them."

"What happened last night?" Sara asked, sitting upright in her chair. "Greg, what happened?"

"Nothing specific. It was just this vibe that I was getting at the crime scene."

"A vibe?"

"Yeah, a vibe. I watched Maddie watching Grissom last night, and I just thought…." Greg said, his voice trailing off before he told Sara what he really thought.

"You thought what?" Sara implored.

Greg sighed and said, "I thought that there might be something going on between them. She was looking at him like…Well, she was looking at him the way you used to, you know, like he was the only person in the room."

"Great," Sara mumbled, as she returned her attention to the plastic fork.

Greg watched Sara spin the fork on its end. "For what it's worth, Sara, I asked Grissom about it. He said they were just friends."

Sara pushed down harder on the fork, causing the prongs to bend. "He said the same thing about Lady Heather."

"That he did," Greg admitted.

Sara pushed down more until she heard the satisfying crack of the fork breaking. "Did you believe him?"

"I wanted to, but, honestly, it's hard for me to believe anything Grissom says these days. I'm not saying that to scare you, Sara, or to make you any more upset. It's just that, ever since you told me what he did to you, I've lost my faith in him. The split lip he gave me didn't help either."

Sara turned the fork upside down and finished breaking off the cracked pieces. "How long do you think it's been going on?" she asked Greg.

Greg shrugged. "I don't know, Sara."

"Before Heather? After Heather?"

"I don't know. They've known each other awhile."

"So before?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to."

"Hey, maybe it's not what you think."

Sara snickered in response. "You know, I said the exact same thing to Warrick earlier. Now I know how lame I sounded."

"What does Warrick have to do with this?"

"Nothing."

Greg thought about it for a moment. "Did Catherine do something?"

Sara, finished with the prongs, started working her way up the fork's handle, destroying it piece by piece. "Let's just say that I'm not the only one whose significant other is doing a lawyer."

"Seriously?" Greg asked, surprised by Sara's admission.

"Seriously. Just don't say anything to Warrick. I don't think he's ready for everyone to know just yet."

"I won't." Greg ducked as one of the broken fork pieces sailed by his head. "What are you going to do?" Greg asked her. He was scared the fork was just a symbol of things to come.

"I don't know yet."

"Do you want me to come over? I can be a good buffer when I want to be."

"No, that won't be necessary, but thanks for offering."

"Anytime. If you need somewhere to stay, you and the kids are welcomed to my bedroom. I can take the sofa."

Sara looked up and smiled sadly at Greg. "Thanks. Hopefully, it won't come to that."

"But if it does, just know the offer still stands."

Sara nodded. She then took a deep breath and asked Greg a question that she wasn't sure she wanted the answer to. "Is there anyone else?"

"Anyone else on my sofa?" Greg asked, trying to make light of the situation. "I wish."

"No, I mean anyone else with Grissom. Have you heard about him with anyone other than Heather and Maddie?" Greg didn't say anything. He just started playing with his wadded-up McMuffin wrapper. Sara watched him for a moment and then said, "You have heard something, haven't you?"

"It was just a rumor, Sara."

"A rumor? About who?"

"About Wendy."

"Wendy Simms?"

"Do you know another Wendy?"

"No."

"It was before Grissom left. I guess you've probably heard that Grissom wasn't exactly the nicest guy ever after you left. Well, he was nice to one person."

"Let me guess. That person was Wendy."

"Yeah. Wendy has been talking a lot lately about getting into the field, and Grissom seemed to take a special interest in her. I heard some of the lab rats talking about it. They wondered if maybe his interest in Wendy went beyond field work."

"Did you?"

Greg shrugged. "Maybe, but that was before I caught Wendy and Hodges in the supply closet. Hodges was just moving out of his mother's house and getting his own place. In retrospect, I guess he was doing that for Wendy; I just don't know if they were together yet at the time."

"Like it would matter if they were."

"No, I guess it wouldn't."

"Well, Hodges did tell me that he and Grissom were two peas in the pod. Maybe he doesn't mind sharing with the boss."

"Maybe." Greg, seeing that Sara looked even sadder than she did when they walked into McDonald's, silently wished that he hadn't said anything. "Look, Sara. It was just a rumor. Maybe you shouldn't treat it as anymore than that."

This time Sara shrugged. "Maybe," she said.

"Hey, do you want me to get you a chocolate milkshake?"

"Uh, no. Why?"

"Well, I've always heard chocolate cheers women up."

"I have a cheating husband, Greg, not PMS. Chocolate's not going to help."

"Oh. Sorry."

Greg didn't know what else to say to Sara. He didn't know how he was supposed to assure her that Grissom wasn't or hadn't cheated with Maddie and Wendy when he wasn't so sure of the fact himself. Luckily for Greg, Connor returned to the table, relieving Greg of his indecision.

"Mom, I'm tired. Can we go home now?" Connor asked Sara.

"Sure. We just have to drop Greg off at his car first."

"Okay," Connor said.

"Do you want anymore of your milk?" Sara asked him.

"Nuh-uh. I just want to go to sleep."

"Okay." Sara picked up her son's milk bottle and added it to the trash on her tray. She then looked at Ava in her carrier and tried to figure out how she was going to carry both the tray and her daughter. She picked up the handle of the carrier first and then attempted to pick up the tray. She watched helplessly as the milk bottle tipped over and spilt what was left of the drink all over the tray. Sara sat the tray back down and said, "Great. Just great. Like my morning can get any worse."

"Here, Sara, let me get it," Greg said, as he grabbed the tray and started sopping up the milk with napkins.

"Thanks for the save, Greg," she replied.

"Anytime, Sara. Anytime."

Sara grabbed hold of the carrier with both hands, afraid with the way her day was going that she would drop Ava if she didn't. She walked over to the door with Connor and waited for Greg. After Greg had dumped the trash, he walked up to Sara and said, "I really did mean that, Sara. Anytime."

"I know, Greg. Thanks."

"Anytime."


	81. Chapter 81

Grissom took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for the turmoil that was sure to come, and opened the front door of the townhouse. He didn't know how he was going to convince Sara that nothing was going on between him and Maddie. He hoped that his word would be enough, but, given his track record with Heather, he doubted that it would be.

The only greeting that he got was from Hank, who jumped up on Grissom and licked his face. Grissom petted Hank's head and then stepped back, causing the dog to return all four paws to the floor. "At least someone is happy to see me," Grissom mumbled.

Grissom looked around the first floor of the townhouse. He didn't see any sign of Sara, Connor, or Ava. He called out Sara's name, but she didn't answer. Grissom went upstairs and saw why; no one but Hank was home. Trying to squelch the tiny voice of doom that was telling him that Sara and the kids had left him yet again, Grissom systematically checked the closets and dresser drawers in each of the three bedrooms. From what he could tell, all of their clothes were still there.

When Grissom went back downstairs, Hank walked up to him with his leash in his mouth. Grissom took the leash out of Hank's mouth and told the dog, "Well, they haven't left us yet. Maybe there's still hope." Hank wagged his tail, presumably in agreement.

* * *

"Connor, wake up. We're here," Sara said, as she gently shook her son's body. He and Ava had fallen asleep on the drive home. Sara knew that she wouldn't be able to carry both of her children into the house at the same time, so Connor was going to have to walk, whether he wanted to or not.

"Huh?" Connor asked, slowly opening his eyes and looking at Sara.

"We're home."

"Oh."

"I can't carry you and Ava both."

"I know," Connor whined.

"Well, then undo your seatbelt, grab Pookie, and let's go," Sara instructed, as she unhooked Ava from her car seat. Connor started to close his eyes again. Sara said more sternly, "Connor Gilbert Grissom."

Connor reopened his eyes and saw from the look on Sara's face that she wasn't joking. He sighed and undid his seatbelt. "I'm going. I'm going," he told her. He then grabbed his teddy bear and opened his car door. Seeing his father's car next to theirs, he said, "Dad's here. I guess he's through with that lady."

He'd better be, Sara thought to herself. However, she did not relay this thought to Connor. Instead, she told him, "Yes, I guess he is." She picked up Ava, grabbed the diaper bag out of the floorboard, and shut the car door.

"I wish he could have gone to breakfast with us," Connor said, as he started towards the door.

"I'm sure he does, too," Sara responded, although she was wasn't sure of the accuracy of this statement. She then followed Connor to the front door.

"It's locked," Connor complained when he couldn't get the door to open.

Sara frowned and told Connor, "He's probably asleep. I'll get it." She shifted a sleeping Ava to her left arm and unlocked the door.

Connor pushed the door open for his mother and sister. After the three were inside, Connor called out, "Dad," but Grissom didn't answer him. "Are you sure he's here?" he asked Sara.

Sara, noticing that Hank had yet to greet them, replied, "He's probably walking Hank."

"Oh."

A few seconds later, Grissom walked in the front door with Hank, confirming Sara's suspicions. Sara noticed that he seemed surprised to see them standing there. When Grissom released Hank from his leash, the dog ran over to Connor and started licking him. Laughing, Connor asked Sara, "Can me and Hank sleep with you and Dad?"

Sara glared at Grissom as she answered, "I don't know, Connor." She didn't want to tell him that she didn't even know if she would be sleeping with his father.

"Please," Connor implored. "I don't want to have another nightmare." Sara didn't say anything. She just continued to look at Grissom, trying to find some morsel of truth or regret in his eyes. "Pretty please," Connor continued in her silence.

Sara finally broke eye contact with Grissom and turned to look at Connor. "Sure, just go put on your pajamas. We'll be up in a minute." Sara watched Connor run up the stairs with Hank at his heels. When she heard the floorboards squeak overhead, she turned back to Grissom. "So tell me. Do I need to go up there and run a black light over the bed before our son gets in it, or were you and Maddie gracious enough to change the sheets before I got back?" she asked him quietly.

Grissom sighed and tried to answer her, "Sara, it's not like that."

"Oh, so you went to her place instead?"

"No."

"So to a hotel then? Tell me, did the two of you check into the No Tell Motel, or did you splurge for a room on the Strip?" Shifting Ava to her right arm, Sara didn't give Grissom time to answer. Instead, she said, "You know, I bet Catherine could get you a good deal on a room at the Eclipse if you asked her."

"That won't be necessary."

"Oh, really. And why's that? Are you too embarrassed to ask Catherine for help? Because, if you are, I'll be glad to talk to her for you."

Grissom walked over to Sara and tried to look her in the eye, but Sara purposefully looked away. "It won't be necessary because there's nothing going on between me and Maddie."

"Uh-huh," Sara mumbled, as she set her jaw in anger.

Grissom touched Sara's face in an attempt to get her to look at him. She finally did so, as she simultaneously stepped away from him. "We're just friends, Sara."

"Sure you are. Tell me, do all of your friends stroke your face and tell you they like a little scruff?"

"I don't know. Do all of your friends sing you love songs at a crime scene?" Grissom retorted.

Sara shook her head at Grissom's response. "So we're back to that again. Nick. You're using my friendship with Nick to justify your infidelity. Are you sure you don't want to blame the booze again? It might make you sound a little less like Hodges."

"I'm not blaming anyone or justifying anything, Sara. I didn't cheat on you with Maddie."

"And I'm supposed to believe you why?"

"Because it's the truth."

"And you have such a great track record at telling the truth, right?"

"My track record's no match for yours."

Sara shook her head again and turned to go upstairs. Grissom, regretting his comment, went after her. He took hold of her shoulders and turned her to face him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Sure you did. I'm just surprised you haven't said it sooner. I knew that you weren't okay with all of this. I just finally have confirmation."

Grissom sighed and then admitted, "You're right. I'm not okay with all of this. You lied to me, Sara, every day for almost ten years. That kind of betrayal isn't something a person can just get over in three days' time, but I'm trying to deal with it. I'm trying to move on."

"And I'm trying to deal with the fact that you can't keep your dick in your pants." Grissom's eyes grew wide as he looked down at Ava. Sara, following his gaze, said, "Oh, please, Gil. She's asleep. She can't hear me, and even if she could, she's five months old. She doesn't even know what the word means."

"But still."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm trying to deal with the fact that you can't keep your _wee-wee _in your pants. Happy now?"

"No."

"Good because neither am I." Sara walked away from the stairs, as she realized that Connor might be able to hear them. Lowering her voice, she said, "I just want to know how long this affair has been going on."

"There is no affair, Sara."

"Did it begin before I left? After I left? I want to know. When did you start sleeping with Madeline Klein?"

"I am not sleeping with Maddie."

"Then when did the two of you start having sex?"

"We're not having sex."

"Uh-huh," Sara muttered, not believing him. She walked into the kitchen with Ava and stared out the window over the sink. Grissom followed her into the kitchen and tried again to plead his case.

"Sara, there's nothing going on between Maddie and me. We're just friends."

"So you keep saying," she mumbled. She then turned around to face him. "Tell me this. If the two of you are just friends, why did Maddie find it necessary to reach out and touch your beard? Did you have a piece of food stuck in it?"

"No."

"Then what? Was there a bug, a piece of trash, dust, what?"

"Nothing was stuck in my beard."

"Then why did she do it?"

Grissom took a deep breath before admitting, "Because she thought that we were more than friends."

"Did she now? And whatever would give her that impression?"

"We went to dinner a few times after you left."

"Dinner?" Sara asked.

"Yes, dinner."

Sara, remembering what dinner could lead to with Grissom, suddenly wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. She therefore left the confines of the kitchen and walked quickly into the living room.

Grissom again followed her. "Sara," he implored.

Sara stopped walking and turned to face him. "Is that it?" Sara questioned. Grissom nodded in response. "Are you sure? You didn't by any chance take her home for dessert like you did with me?"

"I didn't take you home."

"No, I wasn't good enough for that. You just took me back to your hotel room instead. Are you sure you didn't do the same with Maddie?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"So a woman of Maddie's intelligence, stature, and, dare I say, age just somehow managed to misinterpret the meaning behind a few dinners?"

"Yes, I suppose she did."

"And you had absolutely nothing to do with that?"

Grissom, tired and frustrated by Sara's apparent lack of faith in him, sat down on the couch. He stared down at the floor as he answered her. "I don't know, Sara. I'm sure I did something to give Maddie the impression that there was more going on, but for the life of me I can't tell you what that something was. We went to dinner. Maddie ate. I ate. She talked. I listened. We both went home alone. End of story."

"From I what I saw in your office today, I'd say that she thinks it's the beginning of the story, not the end"

"Not anymore. I set her straight after you left."

"Did you now? Did you set Wendy straight too?"

Grissom, surprised by the question, looked up at Sara and asked, "Wendy? What does Wendy have to do with this?"

"Well, rumor has it that you took a keen interest in her after I left last November."

"She said she wanted to get into the field. I was just trying to help her."

"Get into the field or get into your pants?"

"The field. That's it."

"Really? So why is Wendy still in the DNA lab instead of out in the field with us?"

"I don't know. I've been gone for the last four months, remember? Maybe she failed the field exam."

"Or maybe you banished her to the lab once you found out that she was cheating on you with David Hodges of all people."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes, it is," Grissom said, as he returned his gaze to the floor.

Sara studied him for a minute. Misinterpreting the break in eye contact, she said, "Oh, I get it. She turned you down, didn't she? You expressed your, uh, interest in her, and she said, 'Thanks, but no thanks.' That's why you left town. It wasn't because of me. It wasn't because of Warrick. It was because Wendy Simms wounded your precious pride."

"No, that is not why I left," Grissom said, exasperated that Sara wasn't hearing him. He looked up at Sara again and asked, "Where is all of this coming from anyway? Who even told you this supposed rumor?"

"Greg," Sara stated.

"Greg," Grissom repeated, angered by Sara's admission. He stood up and walked across the room. "I should have known. The guy would give his right arm for one night with you."

"Well, at least someone would," Sara retorted.

Grissom shook his head as he thought about Greg whispering insinuations about him and Wendy in Sara's ear. "Sara, you've got to know that Greg only told you that because, after what happened this morning, he thought that he might finally have a shot with you."

"Right, because Greg's the one with the ulterior motives here, not you. Project much?"

"Sara, Greg's been in love with you for years. I know it. You know it. Everyone knows it."

"What I know, Gil," Sara said, slowly and deliberately, "is that Greg is my friend, and, unlike you, he would never intentionally hurt me."

"What about Nick?"

"What about him?"

"Is he like Greg?"

"Do you mean is Nick a friend who would never intentionally hurt me? Yes, he is."

"No, what I mean is is Nick in love with you, too?"

Sara snickered. "Hardly."

"So then why was he singing you some 80's love ballad last night in front of half the police department?"

"Let me guess. You saw the video that's making its way around the lab?"

"Yes. Hodges showed it to me."

"Of course, he did. I bet he was waiting for you the minute you walked into the building."

"Actually, he was."

"Well, if at first you don't succeed…" Sara mumbled to herself. When Ava started to stir in her arms, Sara rubbed her back in hopes that she would stay asleep. She looked from her daughter to her husband and said, "Nick was just trying to cheer me up."

"By singing to you?"

"Yes. By singing to me. I was halfway in a good mood until you called about Connor, and then I went to a dark place emotionally, and Nick was just trying to get me out of it."

"And he couldn't just tell you a bad joke like normal people?"

"No, I guess he couldn't. I was teasing him earlier in the night about him singing to Mandy, and I guess he thought he could cheer me up and pay me back for the teasing all at the same time."

"And that's all it was?"

"Yes, that's all it was."

Grissom turned around to study the butterfly display on the wall. He was silent for a minute as he thought about what to say next. He then told Sara, "I was watching you tonight."

"You were watching me?" Sara asked, surprised. "Where?"

"In the break room. I was watching you with him."

"With who, Nick?"

"Yes, with Nick," Grissom admitted. He turned back to Sara . "You were laughing at something he said. You seemed so…at ease, even happy."

"So? Since when do you have a problem with me being happy? Wasn't it just a few hours ago that you wanted to pop me full of pills so I could be just that?"

"Yes, but…"

"But what?"

"But he's the one who's making you happy, not me."

"Well, maybe that's because Nick has never cheated on me. He has never lied to me. He has never broken my heart."

"Yet."

"Yet?" Sara asked, rolling her eyes at the suggestion. "Once again, let me just state for the record that I am not sleeping with Nick. I have never cheated on you with him or with anyone else for that matter."

"So you say, but you've been lying about the fact that we have a son for nearly a decade. How do I know that you're not lying about this as well?"

"How indeed," Sara commented, as she thought about the ironic turn that their conversation was taking. She had started out accusing Grissom of cheating, and now she had somehow become the adulterer. Growing tired of the banter, she lied and said, "You know, Gil, I give up. You're right. I admit it. Nick and I are having an affair. In fact, we've been on-again, off-again since the day we met. Literally, that first morning in Vegas, we went back to his place after shift, and wow. Just wow. We went at it like a couple of rabbits for, I don't know, hours. When the sex is that good, you lose track of time, if you know what I mean, and boy did it only get better."

Sara paused when she saw Grissom grimace, but then she decided to elaborate on the lie. "You know, I can't tell you the number of places we had sex at the lab. In the showers. The janitor's closet. On your desk once when you were at a conference. We were doing it right under your nose for years, and you were completely oblivious. Nick and I used to get a good laugh out of that. I mean, you have to admit that, for a man with your IQ, you can be pretty dense sometimes. Anyway, we broke it off when I moved back to California, but then a few weeks ago I heard a knock on the door, and when I went to open it, there was Nick, telling me that he loves me and begging me to come home. Literally, he was on his knees begging. I said yes. I mean, how could I say no to that? I came home for Nick, Gil, not for you. That's what you wanted to hear, right?"

"No."

"Then what do you want to hear? That I believe you didn't sleep with Maddie or Wendy? That I forgive you even if you did? That I forgive you for sleeping with Heather?"

"Any of those would be nice."

"Well, I don't, and obviously you don't believe or forgive me either."

"I want to."

"And I want to believe and forgive you, but we always want what we can't have. Isn't that how the saying goes?"

"Yes, I suppose it is." Grissom paused before asking Sara sadly, "If we can't have forgiveness or trust, what can we have, Sara?"

"I don't know. You tell me."

Grissom thought about it before he answered. "Love. I know it's hard for you to believe right now, but I do love you, Sara."

"And I love you. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here right now, and I wouldn't be this angry."

"Then let's start over. Forget about Maddie and Nick. Forget about Michael and Heather. From this moment forward, we start over with a clean slate."

"It's not that simple, Gil. I can't forget what you did. I can't forget what I did, and I doubt you can either. Besides, I thought that we had already done that--started over. Obviously, it didn't do us a hell of a lot of good."

"We had, but we can do it again. They say that 'every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.'"

"Yeah, but how many times can we start over before it just becomes redundant and self-destructive?"

"I don't know," Grissom admitted reluctantly. Seeing that Sara's expression has turned from anger to sadness, he walked over to her in an attempt to close both the physical and emotional distance between them. "I do know that one more time shouldn't hurt. Don't we owe the kids at least that much? Don't we owe ourselves?"

Sara looked down at Ava and shrugged. "I suppose," she admitted. Grissom again touched Sara's face, hoping that she would look at him, but she refused to meet his eyes. Instead, she asked, "How long do you think this new beginning is going to last if we can't forgive or trust each other?"

"I don't know. Hopefully, long enough for us to learn how to."

Sara, still unable to look at Grissom, asked another question, one that she felt had a lot to do with forgiveness and trust. "Are you going to continue to see Maddie?"

"I'm not seeing her, Sara."

Sara, annoyed by Grissom's continued denial, finally looked up. "You know what I mean," she said firmly.

Grissom sighed. Unfortunately, he did know what she meant; he just couldn't do much about it. "We work together, Sara. She's the deputy district attorney. I can't cut Maddie out of my life, anymore than you can."

"Yeah, but you can cut her out of your dinner plans."

"That's true, I can."

"Well, are you going to?"

"If that's what you want."

"It is."

"Are you going to cut Nick out of yours?"

"No," Sara said. Aggravated by Grissom's question, she walked away from him again.

"Why not?"

Sara stopped and turned around. "Well, for starters, Nick doesn't think that there's something going on between us. I was just being facetious with that whole 'we're having an affair' thing. Nick is my friend, Gil. Nothing more. Nothing less. No, wait. Scratch that. Nick is not just my friend; he's my family. He's the brother I wish Ritchie would have been these past few years. I've lost enough family. I'm not willing to lose anymore."

"I'm your family, too."

"Yes, you are, which is another reason why I'm standing here and not on my way out the door. And I know that it's selfish of me to ask you to give up Maddie when I'm not willing to give up Nick, but I don't know what else to do other than to leave. And as angry as we both might be at the moment, I don't think either one of us wants that, do we?"

"No," Grissom answered. Sara leaving was the last thing he wanted.

"Then please don't ask me to give Nick or Greg or Warrick or, hell, even Catherine up. Don't ask me to choose between them and you because I did that once already and look at where it got me. If you want me to ask Nick to stop singing to me or to stop trying to make me laugh, then, fine, I can do that, but just don't ask me to walk away again. Don't ask me to go back to being alone."

"You weren't alone, Sara."

"Wasn't I?"

"You had me."

Sara made a noise under her breath before she said, "Gil, I was halfway to San Francisco before you even realized I was gone. I didn't have you. I didn't have anybody. I just had myself, and I used to be okay with that. I used to be okay with being alone, but I'm not anymore. I want people in my life. I want those people, and if you can't deal with that, then maybe you should tell me now before we just screw up another beginning and our kids in the process."

"I can deal with it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Grissom told her, even though the statement wasn't entirely true. He still worried that Sara would one day realize that those people made her happier than he did and leave him. He knew, however, that he couldn't tell her that, so instead he said, "And I won't ask you to ask Nick to stop making you laugh. You need to laugh. I know that. Could you just ask him if he could maybe try to avoid making the two of you the LVPD's video of the day?"

Sara smiled sadly at the request. "Yeah, I guess I could do that." Ava stirred again, and Sara whispered, "Shhh," as she shifted Ava back to the other arm. "We should probably go upstairs," she told Grissom. "Connor is waiting for us, and I really should get Ava in her crib before she wakes up."

"Okay."

"I, um, I don't want Connor to know that anything is going on between us. I remember what it's like to know that your parents are fighting. I remember how scary that is, and I don't want that for him. He's been through enough already."

"I agree."

"So when he wakes up, I think we should just pretend like everything's okay."

"Okay."

"I told him that you couldn't go to breakfast with us because you had plans with Maddie, so if he asks, just tell him you forgot that the two of you had a meeting or something."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Sara started upstairs. As Grissom followed her, he wondered if pretending that everything was okay between them was the smartest thing to do, but then he realized that it was better than the alternative--pretending that Sara was even there at all.

* * *

"_I can't let you go in there," Brass told Grissom, as he blocked his friend's access to the crime scene behind him._

"_Just try to stop me," Grissom responded. He tried to walk around Brass, but Brass stopped him again._

"_Trust me, Gil. You don't want to see her like that."_

"_I have to, Jim."_

_Brass nodded, stepped aside, and held up the crime scene tape so that Grissom could walk under it. Grissom walked slowly towards the tarps that had been erected to shield the body from the probing eyes of the press. He noticed that the uniformed officers grew eerily silent as he passed them. Few would look him in the eye._

_Catherine stood at the entrance between the two tarps. The flashing red and blue lights of the emergency vehicles illuminated the tears on her face. "I'm so sorry," she told Grissom. She then stepped aside and allowed him to pass between the tarps._

_Grissom looked around the crime scene. Ecklie stood to his left, talking quietly to Greg, while Nick and Sofia stood to his right. Ecklie noticed Grissom and said, "You shouldn't be here, Gil. This isn't your case."_

"_Yes, he should," Greg said, glaring at Grissom. "This is all his fault."_

_Grissom didn't say anything. He took a step forward but then stopped when he saw the blood on Nick's hands._

"_I know this is tough, Nick. It's tough for all of us, but if you could just tell me one more time what happened," Sofia said quietly._

_Nick looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers, causing cracks to form in the now dried blood. "We, uh, we were having dinner at the diner. She was going to bring the car around, while I paid the check. I, um, I heard the shots. I ran out, and I saw…I saw her." Nick turned his hands over, looking at the blood caked on his palms. "I tried to save her. I tried."_

_Sofia put a hand on his shoulders. "I know you did, Nick. We all did." She then looked up, saw Grissom, and quickly looked away._

_Grissom resumed walking. He knew where he had to go. He had to go to her. He could see Dave and Doc Robbins ahead of him. They were with her. At least she wasn't alone._

_Doc Robbins was patting Dave on the back. He could hear them talking, their voices getting louder the closer he got._

"_This isn't right," Dave told Doc Robbins, rubbing at his eyes._

"_Death rarely ever is," Doc responded._

_Grissom stepped on a piece of broken glass, breaking it further. The sound caused Dave and Doc Robbins to stop talking and look at him._

"_Gil," Doc said, acknowledging Grissom._

"_Albert," Grissom replied._

"_What are you doing here?"_

"_I had to come."_

_Doc Robbins nodded, indicating that he understood. He stepped aside and allowed Grissom to pass. That's when he saw her._

"_Sara," Grissom whispered._

_She was sitting in the front seat of her car. Blood covered her clothes, marking a crimson trail from the her neck to her lap. Blood splatter stained the passenger seat and what was left of the passenger window after the bullet had passed through it. Her lips and skin had already taken on a bluish tint, and her eyes stared back at him, cold and vacant. Grissom reached out to close her eyes, but Doc Robbins grabbed his hand, stopping him._

"_Can't you close her eyes?" he asked the coroner._

"_Not until Warrick gets through taking pictures."_

_A flash caused Grissom to turn his head to the right. He saw Warrick walking around Sara's car with his camera in hand._

"_Sorry, I'm almost done," Warrick told him. He took one last picture of Sara and then turned to Grissom. "I guess you couldn't save her either." Doc Robbins cleared his throat. "What?" Warrick asked him. Doc pointed at Warrick's neck. Warrick put his hand to his neck. Feeling the warm blood that now flowed freely from it, he said, "Damn, it's bleeding again."_

_Grissom closed his eyes. He didn't want to see the blood . He didn't want to see any of it._

When he opened his eyes again, he was home in bed. Connor and Sara were lying next to him, still asleep and very much alive. Grissom laid there awhile, watching them sleep. He now understood how Sara had felt the day before, when all she had wanted to do was watch Ava nap. Like Sara, he had come face to face with the possibility of loss. It had made him more aware of what he had and just how quickly it could all be gone.

Eventually, Grissom got up and went into the bathroom to pour himself a glass of water. As he drank from the cup, he took a long, poignant look at himself in the mirror and realized what he had to do.

* * *

Warrick grabbed his cell phone off the night stand and looked at the caller id. Catherine was calling him again. He shook his head, as he turned off the ringer. He didn't want to talk to her. He just wanted to sleep, but unfortunately sleep was alluding him. He tossed the phone back onto the night stand, not caring if he broke it in the process, and resumed counting the tiny pieces of popcorn on the ceiling. So far he was at 1820.

When his land line began ringing a few minutes later, he got up in frustration and ripped the phone cord out of the wall. Catherine had barely acknowledged him at work. She had spent most of the night holed up in her office, downing Tylenol and bad coffee. Not once had she apologized or tried to explain about Adam Novak. Now, nearly 24 hours after he had gotten off that elevator at the Eclipse, Catherine's conscience had finally decided to catch up with her and acknowledge her malfeasance.

"Too little, too late, Cath," Warrick muttered, as he dug around in one of his dresser drawers. He knew it had to be in there somewhere, the solution to all his problems or at least to his current one. Finding it, he pulled it out and looked at it--a bottle of Ambien. He had promised Nick and Grissom that he had thrown the sleeping pills away, and he had, just another bottle. He had forgotten about this one until now.

Warrick opened the bottle and looked at the white caplets inside. He then looked over at the bed, where the covers still lay twisted from hours of tossing and turning. He couldn't go back to counting popcorn. He had to get some sleep before shift. Warrick tipped the bottle over and allowed one of the pills to fall into his hand. He hesitated before putting the pill in his mouth and swallowing it dry.

"Just this once," he told himself. "One time shouldn't hurt."

* * *

"Dad," Connor said, as he walked into the bathroom.

Grissom turned to look at him. Half his face was still covered in shaving cream; the other half was cleanly shaven.

"Did I wake you?" Grissom asked his son.

"No. I woke up on my own." Connor watched him as he rinsed the razor clean. "Why are you shaving?" he asked his father.

"I needed a change."

"Oh. I thought it might be because of what that lady said."

Grissom put the razor down and looked at Connor again. "You heard her?"

Connor nodded. "Why did she say that?"

Grissom didn't want to tell him the truth, so he said the only thing he could think of. "I think she was trying to make a joke."

"She should have tried harder. It wasn't very funny."

"No, it wasn't."

"She made Mom angry."

"I know."

Grissom picked up the razor and started to shave the other side of his face. Connor watched him for a moment and then said quietly, "I thought maybe she said it because she was your girlfriend."

Grissom, started by his son's admission, nicked his cheek. Cursing under his breath, he dropped the razor in the sink and grabbed a piece of toilet paper off the roll. Holding the tissue to the cut, he then asked Connor, "Why would you think that?"

Connor shrugged. "I don't know," he mumbled.

Grissom tore off an even smaller piece of toilet paper and stuck it to his cheek. He then turned to Connor. "Connor, I can't have a girlfriend. I'm married to your mother, remember?"

Connor looked down at the floor and said, "It didn't stop you before."

"What?"

Connor looked up at him. "I heard Mom and Aunt Cam talking one time when they thought I was asleep. They said some woman named Heather was your girlfriend."

"Oh," Grissom responded, unsure of what else he was supposed to say.

"Is she?"

"No."

"Then why did they say that?"

Grissom sighed. Apparently, his son was far wiser than his years. "Because I made a mistake."

"With Heather."

"Yes, with Heather," Grissom admitted.

"Did you make one with that lady, too?"

"No."

"But Mom thinks you did."

"Did she tell you that?"

"No. I could just tell. She tried to open the wrong locker, and then she said a bad word, and at breakfast she looked like she was going to cry, no matter how many jokes Greg told."

"Your mom just misunderstood."

"Did you tell her that?"

"Yes."

"Did she believe you?"

"Not really."

"Does that mean that she's going to make us leave?"

"No."

"Good. I don't want to leave."

"I don't want you to leave either."

"Can I watch you shave the rest?"

"Sure."

Connor walked over to the toilet, lowered the lid, and sat down, while Grissom retrieved the razor from the sink. Swinging his legs, Connor asked Grissom, "Am I ever going to get to shave?"

"When you're older."

"Will you teach me?"

"Of course."

"Good. Because all Mom knows how to do is shave her legs, and I don't want to shave my legs."

Grissom laughed for the first time that day. When he finished shaving, he turned to Connor and asked, "Better?"

Connor nodded and said, "Uh-huh. You don't look like Santa Claus anymore."

Grissom laughed again.

* * *

"_Hello," Sara called out, as she walked into the townhouse. There had been so many cars parked in her driveway that she had had to park her own car on the street. The rain had decided to break free from the clouds only moments after she had gotten out of the car. As a result, she had gotten drenched on her way to the front door. All she wanted to do was go upstairs, put on some warm, dry clothes, and climb under the covers, but first she had to deal with the cars in the driveway and the people who had parked them there. _

"_Is anybody here?" she asked, but the cars' drivers didn't answer her. Sara heard the floorboards creak above her. She looked up, as a familiar sense of dread took hold of her gut. She had been here before, not too long ago. She had gotten drenched then, too._

_Like before, Sara found herself being drawn upstairs against her better judgment. However, this time the hall was not empty. There was a line outside her bedroom door._

"_What the…" Sara murmured, as she saw who was in the line. Catherine. Sofia. Heather. Even Ronnie and Mandy were waiting their turn._

_Catherine noticed Sara first. She elbowed Sofia in the side and said, "Busted." Sofia laughed in response. _

_Sara proceeded to the front of the line. She heard someone moan from the other side of bedroom door. Sara recognized the moan. She had heard it many times before. Angry, she reached for the doorknob, but Maddie slapped her hand away. "Hey, wait your turn, chickadee. We were here first."_

_Sara glared at her and said, "I pay the mortgage."_

"_Hmm. Good point." Maddie stepped aside to allow Sara access to the doorknob. Sara, with a shaking hand, turned it and pushed open the door._

_The scene inside was as familiar as the rain outside and the feeling in her gut. The only difference was that some of the characters had changed. _

"_Wendy?" Sara asked the woman who had now taken Heather's place on top of her husband._

_Wendy, finally realizing that they weren't alone, grabbed at the sheet and tried to cover herself in a last minute show of modesty. "Uh, hi, Sara," she responded._

"_What are you doing here?" Sara asked._

"_I'm taking the field exam." Wendy looked down at Grissom. "How did I do?"_

"_You passed," Grissom answered her._

"_Finally," Wendy said. "This is what, the fifth time you've made me take the retest?"_

"_Actually, it's the sixth."_

"_Right. I forgot about that time at the shooting range." Wendy looked over at Sara and shrugged. "He offered to show me his gun."_

"_Obviously."_

_Wendy rolled off of Grissom, taking the sheet with her. She then grabbed her clothes off the floor and walked up to Sara. "I've got to go. I'm supposed to meet Hodges for drinks in like 10 minutes. We're going to celebrate."_

"_Good for you," Sara commented. _

_After Wendy had left the room, Sara crossed her arms and stared at Grissom, daring him to speak._

_Grissom took the dare. "Sorry, honey. I guess this means we're going to have to start over again."_

"_You think?"_

Sara opened her eyes to find that she was the only one left in the bedroom. She sat up slowly in the bed, as she tried to remind herself that it had only been a dream and that there wasn't a line of women waiting for her husband outside their bedroom door. Try as she might, however, she still couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't the only one who had slept in their bed recently.

Fearing that if she stayed there much longer the dark thoughts would take hold and never let go, Sara forced herself to get out of bed. She went into the bathroom and splashed water on her face before following the sound of laughter downstairs. When she got to the living room, she found Connor and Grissom on the sofa playing a video game.

"Yes! I won again!" Connor exclaimed, raising one hand in the air as a sign of victory.

"That you did," Grissom responded.

Sara leaned against the wall and cleared her throat. They both looked up at her. "Mom, I won again," Connor told her.

"I heard."

"I've beaten Dad five times already at Crash."

"How many times have you played?"

"Five," Grissom admitted reluctantly.

"Wow," Sara said.

"I know. He sucks," Connor said.

"Hey, language, mister," Sara scolded.

"I know. I know, but he does. He's even worse than you."

"Well, at least he's worse than me at something." She smiled at Grissom as she said it. She had meant what she had said earlier. She didn't want Connor to know that they were having problems, so if she had to smile at Grissom instead of scowl, so be it. Grissom smiled back at her. She took it as a sign that he agreed.

Sara walked over to Ava in her Rainforest Jumperoo and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Ava cooed, jumped up and down, and reached for her mother. "Okay, okay, I can take a hint," Sara told her daughter and lifted her out of the jumper. "Are you hungry?" she asked her.

"I already fed her," Grissom answered for Ava.

"Oh, okay," Sara said, suddenly feeling like even Ava didn't need her. "Thanks."

"It was the last bottle."

"I'll have to pump some more later." Sara walked over to sofa. Grissom slid down so that she and Ava could sit beside him. "You shaved," she said, looking at his newly beardless face.

"Fresh face. Fresh start," he told her.

"It looks nice." She instinctively reached out and touched his cheek. When Grissom reached for her hand, Sara realized what she had done and quickly removed her hand.

His disappointment obvious, Grissom returned his own hand to his lap. "Are you hungry?" he asked her. "If you are, I could fix you something."

"I'd like that."

Grissom put the game control aside, got up, and went into the kitchen. As Sara watched him cook, she thought to herself, fresh face, fresh start. It wasn't such a bad idea. In fact, it was pretty much the same thing that Cammie had told her when she convinced Sara to cut and highlight her hair before coming back. The more she thought about it, the more Sara realized that Grissom had woken up intending to do more than just save face in front of Connor; he was making a concerted effort to change.

Sara smiled when Connor followed Grissom into the kitchen and began to mimic his every move. It was like watching two copies of the same person moving in succession, only one of those copies was shrunk down to elementary-school size. Sara was surprised when Grissom didn't grow annoyed with Connor's antics. Instead, he seemed to encourage Connor once he caught on to what he was doing. Sara figured that, if things stayed the way they were at that very moment, she and Grissom wouldn't have to pretend that everything was okay. They might actually start being so.

Fresh face, fresh start, Sara thought again. Not a bad idea at all. She then stood up and joined her family in the kitchen.


	82. Chapter 82

"Are you going somewhere?" Sara asked, pointing at the keys in Grissom's hand.

"I thought I'd get you a battery before shift," he answered.

"You don't have to. I can go."

"No, I said I'd get it."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks. Do you, uh, want some company?"

"No, I'll be fine. You should stay here and rest. I'll be back in a little bit."

"Okay. Sure."

As Sara watched Grissom leave, she tried very hard to ignore the voices in her head that were telling her that her husband wasn't just going to the cell phone store; he was going to see _her_. However, the longer she stared out the window at the empty driveway, the louder the voices got and the more she began to agree with them. Images flashed through her mind, confounding pictures of Grissom and Maddie meeting up in the parking lot of a nearby hotel, Maddie touching Grissom's face again, telling him that no scruff was even better, Grissom laughing at the comment as he gently rubbed Maddie's hand, Grissom holding up the bag from the cell phone store and telling Maddie with a wink that his battery needed charging.

Luckily for Sara, Connor came downstairs and interrupted her thoughts before they moved on to just how Maddie was planning on charging Grissom's battery.

"Where did Dad go?" Connor asked Sara.

Sara finally turned from the window and answered him, "To get me a new battery for my phone."

"Why didn't he tell me? I wanted to go with him."

"Why?" Sara asked. Connor shrugged and looked away, a guilty expression on his face. Sara knew that look well. "Because you wanted him to get you a toy?"

"Maybe," Connor muttered.

"Just maybe?" Connor shrugged again. "You've got enough toys."

"No, I don't. I don't have a Guitar Hero or a Wii or an iPod."

"Poor baby."

"I also don't have the new Mistaka Bionicles or the Spy Gear Signal Launcher or a Ripstick skateboard or…"

"Or, or, or. You know you do have I birthday coming up soon."

"I know. If I had gone with him, I could have made a list for my birthday. Duh."

"Connor, your father went to the cell phone store. I highly doubt there were any toys there."

"But there were phones, and I could have gotten one of them."

"So now you want a cell phone, too?"

"Well, I am the only kid my age who doesn't have one."

"I doubt it."

"I don't. Can I have one, Mom? Please, please, please?"

Maybe getting him a phone for emergencies isn't such a bad idea, Sara thought to herself, as Connor continued to beg. However, unwilling to concede the argument in its entirety, she merely told Connor, "I'll think it about it."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously, but first you have to do something for me."

"What?"

"Go get all your dirty clothes together. I've got to do laundry."

"Fine, but can I get one when you're done?"

"Connor Gilbert Grissom," Sara said sternly.

"I know. I know," Connor responded, throwing his hands up in surrender. "I'm going."

Sara shook her head and followed her son upstairs. They hadn't been home long enough to accumulate too many dirty clothes, but washing what they did have would at least give Sara something to do other than obsess about Grissom and Maddie while she waited for him to return. Opening the door to the small laundry room on the second floor, Sara found that Grissom's suitcase still sat untouched in the corner. She walked in, grabbed the suitcase, and placed it on top of the washing machine.

"I might as well wash his, too," Sara mumbled. She then took a deep breath, as she tried to prepare herself for what she might find inside. Please just let if be dirty laundry, Sara thought to herself, unzipping the bag. Actually, please just let it be _his_ dirty laundry, she amended. She closed her eyes, opened the suitcase, and then opened her eyes. The only things she saw were boxer shorts, socks, pants, and an assortment of Hawaiian shirts.

"Thank God," Sara muttered. She started taking the clothes out of the suitcase, sorting them into darks and lights one by one, all the while fighting the urge to check the collars of the Hawaiian shirts for lipstick. Towards the bottom of the suitcase, she saw a picture turned face down sticking out of the leg of a pair of jeans. "I knew it," Sara said, as she reached for the picture. "So which one of you did he take with him?"

Sara turned the picture over and saw that the only person Grissom had taken with him to Florida was her. It was the picture that they had taken in front of the Golden Gate Bridge the day after the Forensic Academy Conference had ended. After they had finally made their way out of the hotel bed, Sara had offered to drive Grissom to the airport, and he had accepted her offer. They had stopped by Fisherman's Wharf on the way and gotten a tourist to take a picture of them on one of the piers. "I want something to remember you by," she had told Grissom. As it turned out, she had gotten a lot more than just a picture.

Nine years later, she had taken their son to the same place to tell him about his father.

_Sara stared down at her son, who was leaning against the railing, his head propped on his folded arms, as he watched the sea lions off Pier 39's K Dock. She had taken him to Fisherman's Wharf at Michael's suggestion. Michael had assured her that Connor still liked going there, but, in light of Connor's current subdued mood, Sara wondered if Michael had just told her that in spite. After talking her ear off all week, Connor had barely said five words to her that morning._

_Sara, mimicking Connor's stance, tried to break the ice again. "I still can't believe how big you've gotten," she told her son. "You know the last time I brought you here, I had to lift you up just so you could see over the railing."_

_Connor looked over at her and said, "That's 'cause I was four."_

"_You're right. You were," Sara responded, surprised that he remembered._

"_It was also long time ago."_

"_Yeah, I guess it was."_

_Connor pushed away from the railing, walked over to one of the wooden benches on the pier, sat down, and began playing with the buttons on his jacket. Sara frowned, as she studied him. Something was wrong with him; she just didn't know what. Realizing that there was only way to find out, she walked over to Connor and sat beside him on the bench. "I thought you liked the sea lions."_

"_I do," Connor mumbled._

"_Then why the long face?"_

_Connor shrugged in response._

"_Are you cold? Do you want me to get you a hot chocolate or something?"_

_Connor shook his head._

"_Do you want to ride the merry-go-round again?"_

_Connor shook his head again._

"_Do you want to tell me what's wrong?"_

_Connor was quiet, as he stopped playing with his buttons and stared down at the ground._

"_Connor?"_

_He sighed and then answered Sara, "I know why you brought me here."_

"_You do?" Sara asked._

"_Uh-huh. You're leaving again."_

"_Why do you say that?"_

"'_Cause this is where you always bring me before you leave."_

"_Oh," Sara said, as she realized that Connor was right. She had always brought him to the pier at the end of one of her visits. _

"_When are you leaving?" Connor asked her._

"_I don't know."_

"_Today? Tomorrow?"_

"_I'm not sure."_

"_Are you coming back for Christmas?"_

"_I was hoping that I wouldn't have to. I was hoping you'd come with me."_

_Connor finally looked at Sara. "You want me to live with you?"_

"_Yes, I want you to live with me and…um…your father."_

"_Dad's coming with us?"_

"_No, honey, not Michael. Your, uh, your real father."_

"_What?" Connor asked, clearly confused by Sara's response. "What do you mean my real father?"_

"_I, um, I," Sara stammered, unsure of how or where to begin. "I mean your biological father."_

"_My biological father?" Connor asked, still confused._

_Sara, seeing the expression on her son's face, inquired, "That didn't clear it up at all, did it?"_

_Connor shook his head and said, "No."_

"_Okay then. Uh, let's see. How should I put this? Um, sometimes some kids get to have two fathers growing up. They get to have a father who feeds them, takes them to school, and tucks them in at night, like Michael does for you, and then they get to have a biological father as well."_

"_But what's a biological father?"_

"_It's the father who you get half of your DNA from."_

"_What's DNA?"_

"_It's deoxyribonucleic acid."_

"_Deo--what?"_

"_Sorry. Among other things, it's the reason you look the way you do."_

"_It is?"_

"_Yes, it is. Like it's the reason your eyes are the color they are, for instance."_

"_My eyes are brown."_

"_I know. So are mine. That means you got that part of your DNA from me."_

"_We have the same hair color, too."_

"_Yes, we do."_

"_Does that mean I got that part of my DNA from you, too?"_

"_Yes, it does."_

_Connor was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, "What did I get from my biological father?"_

"_You know how you've got that little dent in your chin right there?" Sara asked, reaching over and touching the cleft in Connor's chin._

"_Yeah."_

"_Your biological father has the same thing."_

"_He does?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_Do you have a picture of him?"_

"_Yeah, I do," Sara answered, reaching for her purse. "Do you want to see it?"_

_Connor nodded. _

_Sara dug around until she found the picture of her and Grissom. She then showed it to Connor. "That's your father. See," Sara said, pointing to Grissom's face, "you have the same chin."_

_Connor nodded in agreement. "What else did I get from him?" he asked his mother._

"_You've got the same nose and lips." Connor took the picture from Sara's hand and studied Grissom's face, raising one eyebrow as he did so. Sara couldn't help but laugh at the mannerism. "And that little thing you just did with your eyebrow, your father does that all the time."_

"_He does?" _

"_Yep." _

_Connor looked from the picture over to the bay and back again. "It looks like it was taken here," he observed._

"_It was. A long time ago when your father and I first met."_

"_Is that why you bring me here?"_

"_One of the reasons."_

"_Oh."_

_Connor stared at the picture some more. "What's his name?"_

"_Grissom. Gil Grissom."_

"_Gil? Like Gilbert?" _

_Sara nodded in response. _

"_My middle name is Gilbert."_

"_I know. I named you after him."_

"_But Dad said you named me after your grandfather."_

"_I know."_

"_So why did he say that?"_

"_Because that's what I told him."_

"_But why would you do that?"_

"_Because I was scared to tell him the truth."_

"'_Cause he hits you?" _

_Sara, surprised by her son's question, tried to deny the abuse. "Michael doesn't hit me, Connor."_

"_Yes he does." Connor turned to her and stated, "I'm not stupid, you know. I'm not always asleep when you and Dad fight. I just pretend to be asleep sometimes."_

"_You do?"_

"_Uh-huh. I can hear everything you say."_

"_You can?"_

"_Uh-huh. You're always fighting about me."_

"_That's not true."_

"_Yes, it is. I heard you. Dad's always saying that you don't want me or that you're going to hurt me or that you don't know how to be a mother, and you're always saying that he won't let you want me or be my mother."_

"_Connor," Sara started, wanting to explain and minimize the effect of those words, but Connor interrupted her before she could. _

"_Is that why you're always leaving, 'cause you don't want me?"_

"_Of course, I want you, Connor."_

"_Then why do you always leave me?"_

"_Because, up until now, I didn't feel like I had a choice."_

"_But you did have a choice. You could have taken me with you."_

"_No, I couldn't have. Michael has full custody of you, Connor. He has for years. I'm not supposed to take you anywhere without his permission."_

"_And Dad wouldn't give you permission?"_

"_No, he wouldn't."_

"_Then why did he tell me that you could see me anytime you wanted; you just didn't want to see me?"_

_Sara sighed and thought, maybe it's time I tell him the truth or as much of it as a child his age should hear. She then said, "Because he wanted to hurt me, Connor, and he knew that the best way to do that was by hurting you."_

"_So was he lying then?"_

"_Yes, he was lying. I've always wanted to see you. I've always wanted you to live with me."_

"_You have?"_

"_Yes, I have."_

"_And Dad just wouldn't let you take me?"_

"_No, he wouldn't."_

"_Is he going to let you take me now?"_

"_Probably not."_

"_Then how I'm going to get to live with you?"_

"_Because I'm going to take you anyway, but only if you want to go. Do you?"_

_Connor shrugged and looked at the picture again. "Is he nice?" he asked Sara._

"_Who?"_

"_Gil Grissom. Is he nice?"_

"_Yes, he is."_

"_Does he yell a lot?"_

"_No. In fact, I can probably count the number of times that I have heard him yell on one hand."_

"_Really?"_

"_Really."_

"_Has he ever hit you?"_

"_No."_

"_Would he?"_

"_No."_

"_Would he ever hit me?"_

"_Not in a million years."_

"_Does he want me?"_

"_Of course."_

"_Are you sure? He hasn't wanted me before now."_

"_Why do you say that?"_

"'_Cause if he wanted me, I'd already be living with him."_

"_Honey, that wasn't because Gil didn't want you. He just didn't know that you existed."_

"_Does he know about me now?"_

"_Not exactly."_

"_What do you mean not exactly?"_

"_I haven't actually told him about you yet."_

"_Then how do you know he wants me?"_

"_Because you're his son."_

"_But what if he doesn't?"_

"_He's going to want you, Connor."_

"_You can't know that for sure. If he doesn't want me, are you going to send me back to live with Dad?"_

"_No."_

"_Then where will I live?"_

"_With me."_

"_Even if he doesn't want me?"_

"_Yes, even if doesn't want you."_

"_Promise?"_

"_Promise."_

"_Okay."_

"_Okay what?"_

"_Okay, I want to go with you."_

"_You do?"_

_Connor nodded. "How are we going to tell Dad?"_

"_I don't know."_

"_He's going to be real mad."_

"_I know, but I'll figure something out."_

_Awkwardly, Sara reached over with her right hand and took Connor's left hand in hers. Connor looked down at their intertwined hands and squeezed Sara's hand tightly. Sara , for what felt like the first time, squeezed back._

"Mom?"

"Huh?" Sara answered. She hadn't heard Connor come into the laundry room.

"I said I have my clothes."

"Oh," Sara said, as she saw the clothes in his hands. She put the picture aside and reached for the clothes. "Sorry. I didn't hear you."

"I said it four times."

"You did?"

"Uh-huh."

"I guess my mind and my ears were elsewhere."

"Apparently. What were you looking at?"

"Oh, it was just a picture.'

"Can I see?"

"Sure," Sara answered, handing him the picture.

Connor looked at it and said, "That's the same picture you showed me when you told me Dad was my dad."

"I know."

"Why are you looking at it now?"

"I found it in your dad's suitcase."

"How did he get it?"

"I mailed it to him after we got to your Uncle Ritchie's."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess I wanted him to have something to remember me by."

"Did you think he was going to forget you?"

Sara shrugged and admitted, "Maybe."

"Well, he didn't."

"No, I guess he didn't."

"Shouldn't that make you happy?"

"It does make me happy."

"So why do you look so sad then?"

"I look sad?" Sara asked. Connor nodded in response. "Oh, I didn't mean to."

"Is it because of what that woman said?"

"What woman?"

"The one in Dad's office."

Sara had hoped that Connor had forgotten about what he had seen at the lab that morning. Apparently, he had not. Following the advice that she had given Grissom earlier, Sara tried to cover up what was really going on with her by lying to Connor, "No, I'm just tired."

"Oh," Connor said, scrunching up his face.

"What's that face for?" Sara asked.

"Nothing," Connor responded. He relaxed his face and looked down at the floor.

"Are you sure?"

"Uh-huh. I'm going to go watch TV."

"Okay. Can you check on your sister for me while you're at it?"

"Sure." Connor started out the door but then stopped. Keeping his back to Sara, Connor confessed, "I asked Dad about her."

"You did?" Sara asked, surprised.

"Uh-huh."

Sara put the clothes down and walked over to Connor. Kneeling down, she took her son by the shoulders and turned him around. "Why would you do that?"

"'Cause I wanted to know if she was his girlfriend."

"His girlfriend? Where would you get an idea like that?"

"I don't know."

"Did you hear me talking to Greg?"

"No."

"Then why would you think that Maddie is your father's girlfriend?"

"I don't know," Connor answered, looking down at the floor again.

Sara reached out and tilted Connor's chin back up, so that he was looking her in the eyes. She then said, "Look, Connor, I know that what Maddie said was a little weird and inappropriate."

"A little?"

"Okay, a lot, and I know that I seemed angry about it, but you shouldn't let any of that worry you."

"Why not?"

"Because it's all grown up stuff, and you're a kid, that's why. Besides, your dad can't have a girlfriend because he already has a wife, me."

"That's what he said."

"See, if we both say it, it must be true."

"He also said that other woman wasn't his girlfriend either."

"What other woman?"

"Heather."

Sara, taken aback by her son's knowledge, asked, "How do you know about Heather?"

"I heard you and Aunt Cam talking about her one night. The two of you can be really loud sometimes."

"Oh. We probably thought you were asleep."

"Well, I wasn't."

"Obviously. Look, honey, you just misunderstood us. We didn't mean Heather was your dad's girlfriend-girlfriend. We just meant she was a friend who was a girl."

"If that's what you meant, then why were you crying when you came to bed?"

"You heard that, too?"

"Uh-huh."

"I don't know. I guess I just wasn't feeling very well."

Connor returned his gaze to the floor and said quietly, "I heard you other times, too."

"You heard me crying?"

"Uh-huh, and talking about Heather. Sometimes with Aunt Cam. Sometimes with Uncle Ritchie. Sometimes with Cindy and Mindy."

"Oh," Sara said, as she tried to think of something else to say. All she could come up with was, "You've been doing a lot of listening, haven't you?"

Connor shrugged. "I guess."

"Why?"

"'Cause nobody ever tells me anything. You all think 'cause I'm little, I'm stupid."

"Honey, I have never thought that you were stupid."

"So why didn't you tell me the real reason we didn't move back here after Christmas?"

"I did tell you the real reason."

"Nuh-uh. You said we were staying with Uncle Ritchie because you missed him and because you wanted to spend more time with him."

"I did."

"But that wouldn't make you cry, and you were crying when you got back from seeing Dad."

"No, I wasn't."

"Maybe not when you walked in, but you were in the car. I could tell. Your eyes were all red, and your face was blotchy."

"It was?"

"Uh-huh."

"I just missed your father, that's all."

"Is that it, or were you sad because he did something bad with that woman?"

"How do you…never mind, you were listening. You know, you may very well have a future as a spy."

"So? Is that why you were sad?"

"Yes, it was," Sara finally admitted to Connor.

"Dad said that he made a mistake with Heather."

"He told you that?"

"Uh-huh, when I asked him if she was his girlfriend, too."

"Wow. You and your dad did a lot of talking while I was asleep, didn't you?"

Connor nodded. "You slept a really long time."

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"Did he tell you that, too?"

"Yes."

"So why didn't you believe him?"

"Who said I didn't?"

"Dad."

"Oh."

"So why don't you?"

"I don't know, Connor. I'm trying to believe him. I really am. It's just hard."

"Why? Did he do something bad before that?"

"Not that I know of."

"Did he lie to you?"

"Not exactly."

"Then why don't you believe him now?"

Sara, unsure of how to answer her son's question, stood up and started fidgeting with the dirty clothes. "I don't know. I guess it's just hard for me to trust people sometimes."

"'Cause of Grandma?"

Sara stopped fidgeting and looked down at Connor. "Among other reasons. You know you are wise beyond your years."

"I know. Uncle Ritchie tells me that all the time."

"He does?"

"Uh-huh. He says that I get it from you." Sara found herself smiling, despite the gravity of their conversation. Her smile quickly turned back to a frown when she heard Connor's next question. "Are you and Dad going to get a divorce?"

"No. Why would you think that?" Connor shrugged, refusing to look at Sara. Sara reached over and touched Connor's face. "Connor," she said.

Connor finally looked up at Sara. "'Cause I heard you fighting earlier."

Sara shook her head and thought, I have got to get a house with thicker walls. She then asked Connor, "Did you hear what we were saying?"

"No, but I could tell you were fighting, and when you came upstairs, you both looked really sad. You still do."

"We just can't get nothing past you, can we?"

"Nope."

"Well, in answer to your question, no, we are not getting a divorce."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"But you were fighting."

"Yes, we were. Parents fight sometimes, Connor. It doesn't mean that they're going to get a divorce because of it."

"Are you going to make us leave again?"

"We didn't leave the first time."

"We almost did."

"That's true. We did, but no, I'm not going to make us leave."

"Are you going to make Dad leave?"

"No."

"Are you going to make Hank leave?"

"No. Wait. Did he do something?"

"No," Connor answered, scrunching up his face again.

"Connor…"

"Okay, he might have eaten one of my flip flops."

"And how did he get hold of that?"

"I might have thrown it to him."

"Might have?"

"Okay, I did throw it to him. I thought he'd just catch it and bring it back. I didn't know he was going to chew it all up."

"Great. I guess we'll have to get you some more then."

"But are you going to make Hank leave?"

"No, the dog's eaten a lot worse."

"Good. Can I give him my other flip flop then?"

"Sure. Why not? Just don't let him swallow it."

"I won't," Connor said, as he ran out of the laundry room in search of the boxer.

Sara leaned against the dryer and sighed. All this time she had thought that she had put up a halfway-decent façade in front of Connor, but he had seen right through her fake smiles and false cheers. He had known about Heather, and he had figured out what she thought about Maddie. Despite this revelation, Sara didn't know what to do next. Did she continue to put up an emotional front around Connor, or did she let her son see how truly messed up the woman behind the façade really was? Sara was scared if Connor ever saw the real her, he would run away screaming in horror, taking his father, his sister, and their shoe-eating dog with him. Then she would be right back where she started--broken and alone.

Sara picked up the picture and looked at it one more time. Yeah, she had definitely gotten more than a picture to remember Grissom by that morning. She then put the picture back in the suitcase and continued to sort their dirty laundry.


	83. Chapter 83

_**Author's Note:**_

_ I usually don't like it when people stick these in every chapter, so I tryto avoid doing it myself, but I woke up this morning feeling the need to go back and revise this chapter by adding one. Yes, I know the story is still too angsty for a lot of you, but I'm going out of town for a week, and since I've had people complain about me not updating enough, I thought something was better than nothing. _

_Yes, I plan on making Grissom and Sara happy at some point in time in the story, but like I've told a lot of you, Grissom hasn't even been home a week yet. Do people get over infidelity in less than a week? No. Do they get over post traumatic stress disorder or depression in the same amount of time? No. Do they get over finding out that their spouse has lied to them about a child for nearly 10 years? No. I'm trying to make the story as realistic as possible (except for the whole Warrick in a coma bit--that was pure soap and just wishful thinking on my part), and realistically, people have ups and downs in their daily lives, even people who don't have these kinds of problems._

_That being said, I plan on skipping forward a month or so in the story very soon. I'm just trying to get to a logical place in the story to do so. I'm sure Grissom and Sara won't be nearly as angsty in a month as they are right now where their pain is fresh and new._

_I'm also considering writing a short, alternate version of the story that's full of rainbows and sunlight and puppy dogs for those of you who don't like angst. I guess the fan fic term for it is fluff. I just haven't had time to do it yet._

_Thanks for reading._

* * *

Grissom sat alone in his car, looking at the lights that burned brightly from the townhouse. Not that long ago, he would have come home to a dark house. The only lights that would have been burning for him would have been the ones that he had forgotten to turn off. Part of him missed those days, the quiet simplicity of them. He had never felt the need to apologize back then, to explain the things that he didn't know how to explain, to constantly tip-toe around emotional land mines, to shave away his sins. He was just who he was in those days. Gil Grissom. Entomologist. Criminalist. Supervisor. Teacher. Bachelor. Loner.

But now he was more than that. He was Gil Grissom. Husband. Father. Dog owner. Friend. And with those labels came a new set of rules, rituals, social niceties, and personal norms that he had never had to bother with before. His actions had consequences now. Unintended or not, they affected the people around him. They could change a smile into a frown, trust into suspicion, and peace into anxiety in a blink of the eye. They could make an eight-year-old boy confront his father about his biggest mistake.

"_It didn't stop you before."_

They could cause a wife to expect another.

"_I just want to know how long this affair has been going on."_

They could cause a man to question himself.

"_He's the one who's making you happy, not me."_

He had needed a break from those lights and from the consequences that they revealed. Philosopher Eric Hoffer once said that "with some people solitariness is an escape not from others but from themselves. For they see in the eyes of others only a reflection of themselves." Grissom had not like the reflection that he had seen in Connor's eyes when he approached him in the bathroom or in Sara's when she questioned him downstairs. That reflection wasn't who he was, or at least it wasn't who he wanted to be.

His first instinct had been to retreat to the comforting familiarity of solitude. He knew who he was there. He was Gil Grissom. Entomologist. Criminalist. Supervisor. Teacher. Bachelor. Loner. He wasn't Gil Grissom. Cheating husband. Absentee father. Neglectful dog owner. Fair-weather friend. If it hadn't been Sara's battery, he would have found another reason to leave the townhouse. He would have lied and said that Ecklie had called him in early or that he had forgotten some important paperwork back at the lab. He just needed a few minutes alone to think, to breathe, to just be.

The irony of the situation didn't escape Grissom. Sara had done the same thing ten months ago, only she had run to California instead of to the nearest cell phone store. How could he fault her for that when he was sitting there in his car, staring up at their house, wondering when or if he should even go in?

"_I knew that you weren't okay with all of this."_

Yet Grissom did blame Sara. He blamed her for running away, for lying about Connor, for believing the worst in him, for turning to the other men in her life for comfort and support; but he also blamed himself. He had given her a reason to do those things. Who was he kidding, Grissom thought to himself, as he watched Sara's shadow pass in front of the window downstairs. He had given Sara several reasons, and he'd probably give her several more before it was all said and done. That's just who he was now. Gil Grissom. Clueless chump. Insensitive screw-up. Relationship wrecker.

"_How many times can we start over before it becomes redundant and self-destructive?"_

Grissom sighed and turned up the radio. Sara had left it on KLUC, Vegas's pop station, the last time that she was in the car. Ordinarily, he would have turned the radio to a different station, something more mellow and classic, but tonight he didn't mind the noise. Tonight it served a purpose. The music blocked out the world beyond his car--the people, the relationships, the bruised feelings, everything that he was trying to avoid--effectively sealing the lonesome cocoon that he had created for himself.

Grissom leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He just wanted a few more minutes inside the cocoon, a few more minutes before he had to spread his wings and face the world, a few more minutes of the easy and the expected. As he sat there, he started to pay attention to the lyrics of the song: "I'm tired of looking around rooms wondering what I've got to do or who I'm supposed to be. I don't want to be anything other than me."

"You and me both," Grissom whispered, rubbing at his cleanly shaven face.

"_You shaved."_

"_Fresh face. Fresh start." _

"_It looks nice."_

He remained in the car awhile longer, eyes closed, head back, face still shaven. Gil Grissom. Insecure husband. Bumbling father. Inattentive dog-owner. Remorseful friend.

* * *

Sara snuck another peak out the blinds. Grissom was still sitting in his car. She had heard him pull into the driveway a half an hour earlier, but he had yet to come inside. She was puzzled as to why. She knew that she had hurt his feelings when she had touched his cheek earlier and then jerked her hand away, but she didn't think that her ambivalence towards his lack of facial hair warranted the current situation.

Sara frowned as she considered the reasons why Grissom wouldn't leave his car. Maybe he has decided that he doesn't want to start over after all, Sara thought to herself. Maybe he is trying to figure out how to tell me. Maybe he just doesn't want to be in the same house with me. Maybe my accusations were the last straw. Maybe he has been with her. Maybe he needs to wait until her perfume has worn off his clothes. Maybe--

"Is he still out there?" Connor asked, mercifully interrupting her destructive thoughts again.

Sara turned to look at him. "Yeah, he is."

Connor walked over to the blinds and pulled them back, not trying to hide the fact that he was looking at his father. "Why is he just sitting there?" he asked Sara, his nose and eyes stuck between two of the slats.

"I'm not sure," Sara admitted, looking outside as well.

"He has his eyes closed."

"I know."

"He's not moving," Connor proclaimed. He then let go of the blinds and turned to Sara. "Is he dead?"

"No. I saw him move his arm earlier."

"Is he asleep?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, shouldn't you go wake him up?"

"Probably."

"Why haven't you?"

Sara shrugged in response.

"Can I go wake him up?"

Sara looked out the blinds one more time as she answered Connor. "Sure. Why not?" She then stood at the window and watched her son run down the stairs and to the car. When Connor pounded on the driver's side window, Grissom appeared to open his eyes and turn his head towards the noise. Connor put both hands up on the window. Sara could tell from the way that he bobbed his head back and forth that Connor was making some sort of face at his father; she just couldn't tell which of the many in his repertoire. She saw Grissom smile and reach for the car door. He got out, said something to Connor, and handed him a small bag. Connor said something back and looked in the back window of the car. Grissom said something again, and Connor stood back so that Grissom could open the back door. After Grissom removed a large box from the backseat, Connor shut the car door and ran ahead of him, back towards the house.

Sara stepped away from the window when she heard Connor's footsteps on the front porch. She didn't want Grissom to know that she had been watching him so she quickly turned on the water in the sink and picked up a dish and a sponge. Connor came bounding through the door a few seconds later, followed shortly by Grissom and the big box.

"Look, Mom! Dad got Ava a new car seat!" Connor exclaimed.

Sara heard the sound of a box being placed on the floor behind her. Sara put down the sponge and dish, turned off the water, and turned around. A box containing the pinkest car seat that she had ever seen was now taking up a good portion of the entryway to the townhouse.

"I see that," Sara commented.

"I thought it was time I got one for my car. It's too much of a hassle to keep moving the one in yours," Grissom explained.

"Yeah, I guess it is." Sara tilted her head as she looked at the box. The car seat wasn't just the pinkest one that she had ever seen; it was two shades of pink. A light pink fabric with hot pink and lime green circles decorated the interior cushion and headrest, while a solid hot pink fabric framed the exterior surfaces. The box said that it was the "Princess" model.

"It's, uh, it's one of those car seats that grow with her. You can even attach shoulder straps to it and use it as a baby backpack." Sara tried unsuccessfully to stifle the laugh that had emerged as she pictured Grissom walking around with the pink monstrosity strapped to his back. "What? Did I do something wrong?" Grissom asked, confused by Sara's laughter.

"No," Sara answered, laughing harder, as the image in her head morphed into Ava sitting in the baby backpack, wearing a frilly pink dress and tiara, banging a sparkling wand against the back of her father's head, while she squealed, "Dada, pink! Dada, pink!"

"Then what's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just…uh…It's very pink."

"I know, but Ava's a girl."

"That she is."

"Aren't girls supposed to like pink?"

"In theory, yes."

"Then what's so funny?"

"I just never thought that you would buy something quite that pink."

"I didn't buy it for me. I bought it for Ava."

"In that case, I'm sure she's going to love it."

"I, uh, got a second one for the office. That way, if we ever need Catherine or one of the guys to pick the kids up, there will be one available."

Sara bit her lip to ward off further laughter. She'd pay good money to see Nick, Greg, or Warrick driving around with a hot pink car seat in their respective cars. "I'm sure they'll appreciate that."

"He got you a battery, too," Connor added, handing Sara the small bag.

"Thanks," Sara said, looking down at the bag and then over at Grissom.

"You're welcome," Grissom responded.

They were both quiet for a moment. Sara wanted to ask Grissom why he had taken him so long to come inside, but she decided to let the matter go for the time being. Given the things that she and Connor had talked about earlier, it probably wasn't the best conversation to have in front of him. Instead, she asked Grissom, "Are you going to install it right now?"

"No. I wanted to read the directions first."

Sara smiled, as she thought, of course he does. Grissom was a male rarity in that respect. He never put anything together without reading the directions first. "Good. Could you maybe watch the kids while I take a shower then?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." Sara looked down at the car seat box and then back up at Grissom. "And thanks for the car seats. They were a really nice thing to do."

"You're welcome."

"I'll be back down in a little bit."

"Take your time."

Sara headed for the stairs. She wanted to turn around and see if Grissom's eyes followed her out of the room, the way they used to before she left Vegas and turned their world upside down, but she didn't. She was scared that she would find that he no longer looked at her at all.

* * *

Grissom stood in the doorway of the nursery, quietly watching Sara feed Ava in the rocking chair. Not for the first time, he noticed that all of the worry, tension, and sadness in Sara's face seemed to disappear whenever she fed their daughter. To Grissom, it was the only time that Sara seemed at peace these days, when she was sitting in that rocking chair, peering down at Ava while she nursed, one of her fingers clasped tightly in the little girl's hand.

Grissom used to wonder sometimes what Sara would be like as a mother. He would watch Sara with Hank and speculate about whether that nurturing side of her would transcend species if they should ever have a child. Often she would catch him looking at her and ask him, "What?" He would stutter out some response like "Nothing" or "I was just trying to remember if we gave Hank his Heartgard this month" and then busy himself with some other activity. He would never allow himself to reflect on the subject for too long. He just figured that, with Sara's childhood, children were out of the question, so he would let the thoughts dissipate until the next time she did something that made him think of her as a mother.

A few times he had almost asked Sara if she wanted kids, but he had always stopped himself before the words came out. He had not wanted to pressure her. He had not wanted her to think that their future turned on them having children. He had not wanted to give her a reason to leave. If he had only known that they already had a child or that she was going to leave anyway, maybe he would have had the guts to say something. Maybe they wouldn't be where they were now, in this awkward dance between two bruised souls, trying to figure out where their next steps would lead.

Sara finally realized that she and Ava weren't alone and looked up at Grissom in the doorway. "How long have you been standing there?" she asked him.

"Awhile," Grissom answered.

"Do you want to come in?" Grissom stepped inside the bedroom and stood awkwardly by the crib. Sara, picking up on his unease, nodded down at Ava and asked, "This still weirds you out, doesn't it?"

"What?"

"The whole breastfeeding thing."

"No."

"Then why didn't you come in sooner?"

"I didn't want to disturb you. I was content just watching. You're…very beautiful when you 're with her, like Da Vinci's Madonna and Child."

"As opposed to the rest of the time when I'm what, downright ugly?"

"No," Grissom responded and sighed. "That's not what I meant, Sara. I just meant that you're different when you're feeding her. You seem more relaxed, even happier somehow."

Sara looked down at Ava and stroked a wispy curl with a free finger. "I guess that's because there was a time when I thought that I'd never get to do this. Besides this is easy. I know exactly what she wants, and she has the utmost trust that I'm going to give it to her. I wish the rest of my life could be that simple." Sara's gaze returned to Grissom. "Speaking of, I don't want you to think that I was spying on you or anything, but I, um, couldn't help but notice how long you spent in the driveway, and I was, uh, just wondering if I was the reason you didn't want to come in."

Grissom couldn't help but notice how dejected Sara looked when she asked him that question, how she quickly returned her gaze to their daughter, as if she were scared that his eyes would reveal a truth that his mouth would not. He knew that he couldn't tell her that truth, that he had needed a momentary break from his life, from their life, so he told her what he believed to be a plausible lie. "It wasn't you. It was the florescent lighting at the store. It triggers a migraine sometimes. I felt like I was getting one on the drive home so I just wanted to sit in the darkness for awhile, see if it would go away."

"Oh, I just thought…" Sara said, her voice trailing off as she seemed to consider the validity of Grissom's answer. When she finally looked up at him, she shook her head and gave him a half-smile. "Never mind. Do you, um, want to lie down? I could get you your migraine pills."

"No, that's okay. I drank a Coke when you were in the shower. The caffeine seemed to help."

"Oh. Okay. While you were gone, I washed the clothes that you had in your suitcase, so if you need any of them, they're in the dryer."

"Thanks."

"I also, um, found the picture that you had in there. The one of us in San Francisco."

"You didn't wash it, did you?"

"No. I put it aside. I was surprised that you'd kept it."

"What did you think I was going to do with it, throw it away?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I guess I thought you'd shove it in a drawer or something."

"I kept it on the fridge until I left for Florida."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Ask Catherine. She saw it, and before you insinuate how, I was sick. I had to be in court. Catherine just came by to make sure I was up."

"I wasn't going to say anything."

"But I'm sure you were thinking something. For what it's worth, I'm not sleeping with Catherine either."

"I know."

"Do you?" Grissom asked. Sara didn't say anything in response. She just looked away, finding a spot on the wall to stare at instead of him. "Do you know why I put it on the fridge instead of in a drawer?"

"Because you wanted a constant reminder of why you wanted that beer in the first place?"

"No, because I wanted to remember you, the way you were that day, the way I was."

"Which was what?"

"Happy." Grissom could tell from Sara's set jaw that she didn't believe him so he tried to go at the topic from another direction. "Isn't that why you sent it to me, so I wouldn't forget you?"

Sara shrugged and said, "Maybe, not that it matters. Obviously, the picture didn't have the intended effect on you."

"Why do you say that?"

"Why do you think?" Sara asked in a biting tone. She didn't expect a verbal response from Grissom; his pained expression was all the answer she needed. However, unable to let the subject go, she continued, "Tell me. Was the photo on the fridge the night Heather came over?"

"Yes," Grissom reluctantly admitted.

"But you slept with her anyway."

"Yes."

"And then you took the picture with you to Florida. Interesting choice."

"Sara--"

Sara cut Grissom off before he could apologize again. She wanted to believe that he was sorry, but after everything that had transpired between them that day, she couldn't help but feel that "I'm sorry" was just his way of placating her until her next emotional outburst. "I'm supposed to see my therapist after shift so I was thinking that it would probably be best if we took our own cars tonight."

"I don't mind waiting for you."

"I'm sure you don't, but all the magazines in the waiting room are at least a year old. You'd probably just get bored."

"I can bring my own reading materials."

"I know, but if you come with me, we'll have to pay Rachel overtime, and you'll be missing out on an hour of sleep."

"Sara, it's only an hour of overtime and sleep. I think I can manage."

"But I can't," Sara finally conceded. "I just…I need to do this alone, okay? I'm not saying that to hurt you or to punish you or anything else. It's just that therapy--talking about myself for an hour, coming to terms with the things that I've done, the things that have been done to me--it's all very draining, and, I don't know, I guess I just need some time alone afterwards to recharge, if that makes any sense."

It makes more sense than you know, Grissom thought. He had essentially been doing the same thing earlier in the driveway. "It does," he told her.

"So then you don't mind going home without me?"

"No."

"Good." Sara looked down, as she realized that Ava had released her breast and was looking at Grissom. "Looks like someone's full," she said, pulling that side of her robe back up. Holding Ava upright and standing up, she asked Grissom, "Do you mind burping her so I can get dressed?"

"No," Grissom said, reaching for his daughter.

Sara handed him Ava and then a hand towel. "You might want to try putting a towel on your shoulder this time. You've been walking around with spittle on your shirt all day."

"I know."

Sara started out of the room but then stopped. Her back to Grissom, she stated quietly, "Thanks for shaving." She then hurried to their bedroom before Grissom had a chance to respond.

* * *

"So this is what the dog house looks like," Catherine commented on her way into the office.

Grissom, who by this point really was experiencing the onset of a migraine, opened his eyes and looked at his colleague. "You can never just say 'hello,' can you?"

"'Hello' is highly overrated. Are you and Sara still fighting?" she asked, sitting down.

"Why do you ask?" Grissom responded, wincing when Catherine subsequently turned on her desk lamp.

"I don't know. Maybe because I saw Sara sitting in her car in the parking lot and your car parked right next to hers."

"Sara's supposed to see her counselor after shift so we came in separate cars."

Catherine studied Grissom for a moment before responding, "Okay. I can buy that. She had counseling last Thursday, too. It doesn't explain your face, though."

"What's wrong with my face?"

"Nothing. You just shaved is all. Any reason for that?"

Grissom sighed. How could women read so much into facial hair, he thought, before answering Catherine. "I needed a change."

"Did you, or did Sara?"

Grissom briefly closed his eyes again in an unsuccessful attempt to blink away the spots that were distorting his vision. "What did you hear?" he asked Catherine when he reopened his eyes.

"Nothing," Catherine said, a little too quickly.

"Catherine…"

"Okay, I might have heard that there was an incident this morning involving you, Sara, and Madeline Klein."

Grissom shook his head and muttered, "Greg."

"I didn't hear it from Greg. I heard it from Bobby Dawson."

"And I'm sure Bobby heard it from Greg."

"No, actually, I think he heard it from Hodges." Catherine watched her colleague rub his temples, as he diverted his gaze to the paper weight on his desk. "So is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"That you are sleeping with the Deputy D.A.?"

"No."

"Were you sleeping with her before Sara came home?"

"I was in Florida, Catherine. Madeline was here. What do you think?"

"I meant before Florida."

"No, I wasn't sleeping with her then either."

"Hmm," Catherine said under her breath, as she busied herself shuffling the paperwork on her desk.

"Catherine…"Grissom began, finally averting his eyes from the paper weight.

Catherine held up one hand as she spoke. "Hey, I believe you. I don't know why I believe you. It's not like you would tell me if you were. If Natalie hadn't come along, I doubt you would have ever told me about Sara."

"We had our reasons for keeping our relationship a secret, reasons I think you would know a lot about considering your own relationship with Warrick."

"What relationship?" Catherine let slip. She looked up, hoping that Grissom hadn't heard her, but it was obvious from his raised eyebrow that he had. "Let's just say that you're not the only one who's in the doghouse. Next topic." Catherine finally noticed the car seat in the corner of the office. "Wow, that's pink," she said, nodding in the car seat's direction.

"That's what Sara said."

"Did you pick it out or did Sara?"

"I did."

"Why isn't it in your car?"

"I have one in my car. I bought an extra one in case we ever needed one of you to pick up the kids."

"Is the one in your car just as pink?"

"Yes. It's the same design."

"Oh."

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"No. It's nice. Pink, but nice."

Grissom shook his head at Catherine's reply. "What does the world suddenly have against pink?"

* * *

Sara had been sitting in her car for over 15 minutes, staring at the steering wheel, trying to garner enough energy to go inside. Even though she had slept more than normal, she still felt bleary. Sara knew that she was suffering more from a mental exhaustion than a physical one, but that knowledge didn't make it any easier for her to place her feet outside the car. She silently wished that she could just go home and go back to sleep, preferably alone, but she knew that leaving wasn't a viable option. Somewhere in Las Vegas, a body or a robbery or some other type of crime scene was waiting for her, and as much as she wanted to, she couldn't walk away from it.

Sara finally looked up from the steering wheel when she heard a knock on the passenger side door. She saw Nick standing on the other side of the door, motioning for her to unlock it. Sara obliged him by hitting the unlock button the door handle. Nick then opened the passenger door, sat down in the passenger seat, and shut the door behind him. Looking over at Sara, he asked, "Do you plan on going in anytime soon?"

"I was thinking about it," Sara replied.

Nick recognized the tone in Sara's voice. It was the same tone that she had the night before after Grissom called about Connor. "Is that all you were thinking about?" he asked her. Nick didn't get a response from Sara. "You know, I couldn't help but notice that you and Griss came in separate cars tonight."

"What, are you stalking me now, too?" Sara asked curtly.

"No," Nick answered and frowned at his friend's attitude. It looked to him like it was going to be another one of those nights. "I just pulled in the parking lot right behind you."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Did y'all have a fight or something?"

"Like Greg hasn't told you already."

"Told me what?"

"About Grissom and Maddie."

"No. He hasn't said anything about them. Why? What's going on with Grissom and Maddie?" When Sara didn't say anything, it took Nick another minute to realize the answer to his own question. "No. No way. Where would Greg get an idea like that from?"

"From me."

"And where would you get an idea like that?"

"From Grissom and Maddie."

"What, did they just come right out and tell you that something was going on between them?"

"No, I saw it with my very own eyes."

"Saw what? Please don't tell me that you walked in on them in bed together."

"I didn't."

"Then what happened?"

"This morning after Rachel dropped Ava off, I took the kids by Grissom's office to see when he was going to be able to leave. Maddie was in there. She was sitting on his desk, rubbing his face, telling him that 'some women like a little scruff.'"

"Oh, okay. Uh, did he look like he was enjoying it?"

"I don't know. He saw me standing in the doorway a few seconds later and pushed his chair away from her."

"See. I'm sure that means that he wasn't."

"Or it means he just got caught."

"Did you ask him about it?"

"Yes. He said that there's nothing going on between them."

"And I take it from the fact that you're sitting here right now that you don't believe him."

"I want to. It's just, given his track record…"

"You can't."

Sara shook her head. "No."

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I know, but still. For what it's worth, I have never once suspected anything between them."

"Greg has."

"Of course, he has, Sara. Don't tell him that I said this, but Greg would believe that Grissom is sleeping with Ecklie if he thought that it meant he might finally have a shot with you."

"That's what Grissom said, sort of."

"See, we can't both be wrong, can we?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"No, I guess not. You know, you're going to have to go in sometime and face him."

"I know, but it's not just Grissom that I'm worried about."

"Then what is it? Are you worried about what the rest of the lab has to say about it?"

"Honestly, yeah, I am. I'm tired of being that girl who everyone talks about."

"Ah, let 'em talk, Sara. They're the ones who end up looking stupid for it, not you." Sara snickered in response. "Hey, I can sing again if you want, that way they'll all be talking about me, instead of you."

"Yeah, uh, about that. Um, you should probably know that Grissom has convinced himself that your little impromptu concert last night means that you're in love with me."

"What?"

"I told him that you were just trying to cheer me up, but I'm not so sure he believed me. He asked me if we're sleeping together."

"You told him that we're not, right?"

"Right, but I don't think he believed me anymore than I believed him about Maddie."

"Great. So I guess I should expect a decomp or worse tonight."

"Probably."

"Swell."

"Sorry." Sara reached for her door handle. "I guess we should go in." After she got out of the car, she noticed that Nick hadn't followed her. "Are you coming?" she asked.

"Nah, I think maybe I'll just sit here awhile."

"Okay. Just lock up when you're done."

"I will. If anyone asks where I am, just tell them that I'm in the bathroom or something."

"Bad sushi?"

"Bad sushi."

* * *

"I don't have to ask you how your night's going. I can tell by the look on your face," Greg told Sara when she walked in the locker room.

"That obvious, huh?" Sara replied, as she unlocked her locker.

"For someone that knows you, yeah. I take it that means things didn't go all that well when you got home."

"As well as can be expected."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning Grissom denied he was sleeping with Maddie. I denied I was sleeping with Nick. He didn't believe me. I didn't believe him."

"Hey, at least you're both still in one piece."

"That remains to be seen."

Before Greg could ask Sara what she meant by the statement, Ronnie rushed into the locker room with her bag and jacket in hand. "Hey, guys. Please tell me that Grissom and Catherine haven't handed out assignments yet."

"No, not yet," Greg told her.

"Thank God," Ronnie said, quickly opening her locker and throwing her things into it. "I'm having one of those nights. First, my alarm didn't go off. Then my hot water went out in the shower. Then when I went to get dressed, I found out that I didn't have any underwear clean, which I'm sure is more than either one of you wanted to know, but it's just how my night's going. And Greg, before you go getting any ideas, I'm wearing my bikini bottom so you won't be getting a free show when I lean over tonight." Sara laughed at the comment, while Greg sulked. "Oh, but it gets better. When I got in my car, I knocked my coffee cup over so my passenger seat is pretty much ruined. I had to stop and get gas, and of course, it's 10 cents more than it was this morning. I tried to save time by taking what I thought was a shortcut after I left the gas station, but, as it turns out, it wasn't a shortcut. I'm not sure what it was. All I know is that I got lost, and now I'm late for work. Like I said, I'm having one of those nights."

"Join the club," Sara responded.

"So you're wearing your bathing suit, too?"

"Greg wishes."

"Yeah, I bet he does."

The former partners looked knowingly at Greg. Greg threw up his hands and asked, "What did I do?"

"Neither one of us, that's for sure," Ronnie answered, throwing Greg's comment from the other night back in his face.

Sara couldn't help but laugh at Ronnie's retort. "Good one," she commented.

Ronnie shrugged, as she shut her locker. Greg looked from one woman to the other before stating, "So that's how it's going to be. The two of you are having a bad night, so now you're going to make sure that I'm having one, too."

"Well, we wouldn't want you to feel left out, Greg," Sara explained.

"Great. Thanks."

"Anytime."

Catherine and Grissom appeared in the doorway holding assignment slips in their hands. Catherine spoke first. She handed Sara a piece of paper. "Sara, Greg, you've got an accident with fatalities out on the Beltway. Nick, you're with me on the--wait. Where is Nick?" Catherine asked, as she finally realized that he wasn't in the room.

"He's, uh, in the bathroom," Sara told her. "He said something about some bad sushi."

"Great. Will someone go in there and tell him to take some Milk of Magnesia and meet me in my office?"

"Sure thing."

"Ronnie, you and Warrick have a jewelry store robbery on Lake Mead Boulevard." Grissom handed Ronnie the piece of paper with the details and then looked around the locker room. "Where's Warrick?"

Although Sara didn't know where Warrick was, she had a feeling as to why he was somewhere other than work. "Same place as Nick," she lied, covering for him.

"Bad sushi?" Grissom asked.

"It's why I don't eat meat."

"Are you coming with us?" Ronnie asked Grissom.

"No, I have a home invasion at Desert Shores."

"It must be the week for them. Hey, Sara, didn't you and Nick have one last night?" Ronnie asked.

"Yeah, we did, although I think it was more of a staged invasion than the real thing," Sara stated.

"Hmm. Interesting. Why can't I get one of those?"

"Because you're having a bad night," Greg responded.

"Right. Thanks for reminding me."

At that moment, Grissom realized that he and Catherine must have walked in on the tail end of a conversation between Ronnie, Sara, and Greg, apparently one that revolved around Ronnie having a bad night. While Grissom knew that, as Ronnie's supervisor, he should inquire into her maladies, his migraine was overruling his concern. Thus, he directed Ronnie, "Ronnie, just wait for Warrick. I'm going to go ahead and get going."

"No problem."

"And tell Nick that I'm waiting for him," Catherine added.

Once Grissom and Catherine had left the locker room, Greg spoke up first. "Okay, where's Nick and Warrick? I know for a fact that neither one of them particularly cares for sushi. I brought some for dinner once, and I believe Nick's exact words were, 'Real men like their fish fried.'"

"Nick is in my car, having a moment," Sara admitted.

"A moment?" Greg asked, unsure of what Sara meant.

"Yeah, I'll explain later."

"And Warrick?"

"I have no idea." Sara pulled out her cell phone, which now worked thanks to the new battery, and called Warrick on both his cell phone and house phone. When he didn't pick up on either line, she was forced to leave a voice message, telling him where to meet Ronnie. "He's not answering," she told her colleagues.

"Yeah, we kind of figured that out from the voice mail," Greg retorted. Sara just glared at him.

"Maybe he's on the way here," Ronnie offered in an attempt to diffuse the situation.

"Maybe," Sara conceded.

Greg could tell that Sara was still concerned about Warrick. Venturing a guess as to why, he asked, "What, you don't think he's gambling again, do you?"

"No. I wasn't even thinking about that."

"Then what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that he might have turned his phone off and accidentally overslept."

"Why would he do that?" Ronnie asked.

"Because that's what I would do if I was in his shoes."

"Uh, you kind of are in his shoes, Sara," Greg pointed out.

"True, but I also have kids, so oversleeping is never an option."

Ronnie, confused by the banter between Greg and Sara, asked, "Is there something going on with Warrick that I should know about?"

"Uh," Greg said, looking to Sara for guidance.

"There is," Sara filled in for him, "but I think it's better if Warrick tells you what that something is."

"Fair enough," Ronnie said, shrugging.

"Look, I'm going to go kick Nick out of my car and tell him that Catherine is waiting for him. Then I'm going to go by Warrick's place and see if he's there. Ronnie, can you handle the robbery until I find Warrick?"

"Sure."

"If anyone asks you where he is, especially Grissom, just tell them that he had to run to the bathroom again."

"Bad sushi?"

"Right, bad sushi."

"What do you want me to do?" Greg asked Sara.

"Cover for me."

"Well, that's a given. I meant what do you want me to tell Catherine if she checks in? I can't tell her you ate bad sushi. You're a vegetarian."

"I don't know. Tell her that I ate some bad tofu instead."

"Bad tofu? I don't think she's going to buy that."

"Well, then think of something else to say. Use that overactive imagination of yours for something good for once."

"Like I ever use it for anything bad." Sara cleared her throat, while Ronnie folded her arms and looked at Greg. "Okay, forget I just said that."


	84. Chapter 84

"So I have good news and bad news," Sara told Nick, as she got in her car and shut the door.

"What's the good news?" Nick asked.

"You're with Catherine tonight."

"And the bad?"

"It still might be a decomp. She didn't finish her sentence about your assignment once she realized that you weren't in the locker room."

"Great," Nick muttered under his breath. "Did she ask where I was?"

"Yeah. I gave her the bad sushi excuse."

"Did she believe you?"

"I think so. She wanted one of us to go in the bathroom, give you some Milk of Magnesia, and tell you that she's waiting for you in her office."

"Swell."

"Hey, at least it's not Grissom."

"True. I guess I'd better hurry in then before she realizes that I don't even eat sushi," Nick said, reaching for the door handle.

"Wait. Before you go, by any chance has Warrick ever entrusted you with a spare key to his place?"

"Uh, no. Why?"

"Because he hasn't shown up for work yet, and he's not answering his phone."

"Warrick, man," Nick said, shaking his head and silently cursing his coworker's absence. He turned in his seat and looked at Sara. "Do you think he overslept?"

"I hope that's all he did."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning, he and Catherine are having some problems."

"What kind of problems?"

"The kind that involves Catherine taking Adam Novak up to her mother's hotel room."

"What? Catherine and Adam Novak? Are you sure?"

"Warrick saw them together after my birthday party."

"He never said anything to me about it."

"He was probably too embarrassed."

"But he told you."

"I guess he thought that I could relate. Besides, he didn't really tell me so much as I guessed."

Nick shook his head again as he thought about Catherine and Adam together. "I bet Grissom's thrilled that Warrick wasn't there for assignments."

"I, um, told him that Warrick ate the same bad sushi as you and was in the bathroom as well."

"That must have gone over well."

"He didn't question it."

"But he's going to figure out you were lying once Warrick doesn't show up at the crime scene."

"Not necessarily. They're at different scenes tonight. Grissom wants Warrick and Ronnie to handle a jewelry store robbery while he handles a home invasion solo. He told Ronnie to wait for Warrick to get out of the bathroom so he could go on ahead."

"Ronnie's going to be waiting awhile."

"Actually, she's not. She knows what's going on for the most part. She's going to cover for Warrick at the jewelry store until I can get him there."

"And I take it that Greg is covering for you."

"Yep."

Nick took his keys out of his pocket. "Here," he said, handing them to Sara.

Sara looked at the keys, a puzzled expression on her face. "I thought you said he didn't give you a key."

"He didn't, but Ecklie gave me a key to Catherine and Grissom's office after he made me assistant supervisor."

"So?"

"So give me a few minutes to get Catherine out of there, and you can, uh, borrow her keys."

"Because she most likely has a key to Warrick's place."

"Exactly."

"Does she still keep them in her top drawer?"

"As far as I know."

"What if he's not there?"

"Try the casinos, and, um, you might want to check out a few of the strip clubs as well."

"Strip clubs?"

"Yeah, uh, while you were gone, after his divorce from Tina was finalized, Warrick had this, uh, thing with a stripper."

"Okay…"

"She died. Well, she was murdered actually, so it's not like Warrick would run back to her, but it's altogether possible that he might find another strip club and, uh, console himself with someone a lot like Candy."

"Candy? Don't tell me her stage name was Candy Cane."

"As a matter of fact…"

Sara laughed. "Well, that's original. I don't even want to know what she asked her clients to lick."

"I'm not sure I do either. For what it's worth, her real name was Joanna."

"Well, that makes it so much better. A stripper. A shooting. A coma. A stripper turned CSI. What else did I miss while I was gone?"

"You don't want to know."

"That much, huh?"

"That much. That little. It's all according to how you look at it. So how's this?" Nick asked, as he tried to feign a pained expression. "Do I look like I'm in pain?"

"A little. You might want to squint more, clutch your stomach when you go in, maybe even splash a little bit of water on your face so it looks like you've been sweating."

"Good idea. You seem to know a lot about faking sick." Sara shrugged as she reached for the car door. Nick followed suit.

"Just something I picked up as a kid," Sara answered. She got out of the car and shut the door.

Nick likewise got out of the vehicle. "Really? I would have never pegged you as someone who would lie about being sick just so she could skip school."

"Me, skip school? Never. Now some of my foster siblings on the other hand…Well, let's just say that some of them spent more days out of school than they did in. "

"Regular juvenile delinquents, huh?"

"You could say that. One of them taught me how to hot wire a car when I was 14."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously, so if you're ever looking to steal a car, I'm your girl."

"Good to know. Okay, so how's this?" Nick asked, slightly bending over as he held his stomach.

"Better." Sara studied Nick for a moment and then walked over to him. She reached up and pinched both of his cheeks hard.

"Ouch! What was that for?" Nick inquired.

"It makes your cheeks red, like you're running a fever or something."

"Oh. Okay, but could you give me some warning next time?"

"What would be the fun in that?" Sara then grabbed the bottom of Nick's shirt, wrinkled it up, and laid it back down, the hemline askew. "All right. That's even better. Let's go."

* * *

Sara pounded on Warrick's apartment door for a third time. She had seen his car in the parking lot and assumed that he was, in fact, inside, but as the minutes passed with no groggy-eyed Warrick opening the door, she had started to question this assumption and wonder whether he had taken a cab to Sweet Tart's, Gummy Bear's, Lolly Pop's, or some other candy-named stripper's place.

"Warrick, come on. Open up. It's me, Sara," she tried one more time. When Warrick failed to respond, Sara began trying Catherine's keys in the door, one key at a time. "How can one person have so many keys," Sara muttered, as she tried unsuccessfully to fit the tenth key in the doorknob. On the twelfth try, Sara found Warrick's key. "Finally," she said, opening the door.

"Warrick," Sara called out as she entered the apartment. She didn't get an answer. Shutting the door behind her, she glanced around the living room and kitchen. She didn't see any sign of Warrick, but she did see that the phone in the living room had been disconnected from the wall. "That explains a lot," she said to herself.

She walked over to the bedroom door, which stood open to the living room. Seeing Warrick lying in the bed, his eyes closed, the sheets and comforter still twisted into a pretzel-like knot at the end of the bed, Sara knocked softly on the bedroom door. "Warrick," she called out again. Warrick still didn't answer her. Frowning, Sara went over to the bed and sat down. She then saw the prescription bottle on the nightstand next to him. She picked up the bottle and read the label, "Ambien. Well, that explains a lot more," she said.

She returned the bottle of sleeping pills to the nightstand, reached out, and gently shook Warrick's shoulders. "Warrick, wake up. You're late."

Warrick stirred but did not open his eyes. Instead, he mumbled, "Aw, Grams, I don't want to go to school today."

"Grams," Sara mouthed, as she shook Warrick a little harder. "Warrick, come on. Wake up."

"Nuh-uh," he muttered, trying to turn away from her.

"Warrick, wake up, or I'm going for the pitcher of cold water."

"Uh," and a moan was all she got out of him.

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you." Sara went back to the kitchen and began opening cabinets until she found the one with glasses. She then proceeded to take a glass and fill it up with cold water and ice from the fridge. Returning to the bedroom, she stood over Warrick with the glass. "I'm doing this for your own good," she stated, as she allowed a few chilled drops of water to spill from the glass onto Warrick's forehead. Warrick swiped at the droplets like they were a fly that had landed on his face but didn't open his eyes. "There's more where that came from," Sara told him. Warrick moaned again and pulled one of the pillows over his face.

Sara shook her head in amazement. "So that's how you want to play this?" she asked rhetorically, not expecting an answer. "Alrighty then." She tilted the glass further and only righted it after a third of its contents had spilled onto Warrick's chest.

Warrick, shocked by the coldness, sat upright and finally opened his eyes. Seeing Sara standing next to the bed, he exclaimed, "Sara, what the--!"

Sara cut him off before he could finish the explicative. "I was trying to wake you up," she explained.

"And you thought pouring cold water on me was the best way to do it?"

"Nothing else was working."

"What--how did you get in here?" he asked, as he grabbed the twisted sheets and used them to wipe the water off of him.

"I picked the lock."

"What?"

Sara held up the keys. "I used Catherine's keys."

"Why?"

"Like I said, you wouldn't wake up, and you missed assignments."

"Aw, man," Warrick complained, rubbing at his eyes. "What time is it?"

"A little after midnight."

"I don't get it. I set the alarm."

"I'm sure you did, but it also looks like you took one of these," Sara said, holding up the bottle of Ambien.

Warrick looked at the bottle that Sara was holding with regret. "I, uh, couldn't sleep. Catherine wouldn't stop calling."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out from the unplugged phone. You know, these things are supposed to make people sleep-walk, sleep-drive, sleep-eat. They probably make you sleep-turn-off-the-alarm-clock, too."

"I know. I just…needed the extra help, just this one time."

"Hey, I'm not judging. I'm just trying to help."

"Is Grissom pissed?"

"He doesn't know."

"How's that possible?"

"Because I covered for you. I told him that you had eaten the same bad sushi as Nick and were in the bathroom, uh, trying to recover."

"Since when does Nick eat sushi?"

"Since he decided to hide from Grissom in my car."

"What?" Warrick asked, confused by Sara's answer. "You let Nick eat sushi in your car?"

"God, no. Like I'd ever be able to get the smell of fish out."

"Then what are you talking about?"

Sara sighed and sat back down on the bed. "Grissom and I had a fight earlier. I, um, caught him in a compromising position with Madeline Klein this morning, and when I confronted him about it, he accused me of sleeping with Nick."

"Wait…What? What kind of compromising position?"

"Little Miss Deputy DA was sitting on Grissom's desk, stroking his cheek, telling him that some women like a little scruff."

"Uh, okay." Warrick was a quiet for a moment, as he thought about what Sara had said. He then attempted to tell her, "Sara, I'm sure--" but she cut him off again.

"No. Nuh-uh. Don't you dare say, 'I'm sure it wasn't what it looked like,' not unless you want me to say the same thing again about Catherine and Adam Novak."

"Fine, I won't, but where did Grissom get the idea that you and Nick are sleeping together?"

"Where do you think?"

"Hodges?"

"If it looks like a rat and spreads filth like a rat…" Sara answered, her words trailing off.

Warrick shook his head. "You know, I'm starting to think the guy has a thing for Griss."

"It wouldn't surprise me in the least."

Warrick rubbed at his face some more, hoping to rid himself of the lingering effects of the Ambien. In the past he had always felt hungover after taking one of the sleep aids, and this time wasn't proving to be any different. "Okay. So you think that Grissom is sleeping with Maddie. He thinks that you're sleeping with Nick. What does any of that have to do with sushi?"

"I was sitting in my car before shift, trying to work up the nerve to go in. Nick got in and tried to give me a pep talk. After I told him about Grissom's suspicions, Nick wasn't all that ready to go in either. He asked me to cover for him in case Grissom and Catherine handed out assignments before he made it inside. The bad sushi story was the first one we came up with."

"And the story has now evolved into me going with him to the sushi restaurant?"

"Pretty much. Grissom seemed to believe me. He went ahead to his own scene. Ronnie's waiting for you at yours."

"So Ronnie is in on the whole cover story?"

"Yeah. If Grissom calls, she's going to tell him that you had to go find the nearest bathroom."

"Who else is on it?"

"Just Greg and Nick. Oh, and, um, Grams."

"Grams?"

"Yeah, that's what you called me when I told you that you were late. Now, I may need to touch up a few gray hairs here and there, but the last time I checked, you were still a year older than me."

"Try 11 months."

"Eleven months, a year. Either way, I'm still too young to be your granny."

"Sorry, Sare. The Ambien makes me a little loopy sometimes."

"Uh-huh."

"You don't look old at all."

"Uh-huh."

"I should probably go get a shower."

"Yeah, you probably should, but make it quick before we both get busted. I'll make coffee."

"Thanks, Sara. I owe you big time for this."

"No, you don't. I should have been here when you got shot, but I wasn't, so just consider us even."

Warrick got up from the bed, patted Sara on the back, and hurried towards the bathroom.

* * *

Grissom squinted against the glare of his flashlight. Even the small beam of light was aggravating his migraine. The officers on scene had turned on the home's lights for him when he arrived, but he had turned them back off, telling the officers that he wanted to see the scene as the assailants had seen it. The officers had shrugged and left him alone in the dark, just as he had requested. By now, all but the most novice of them had grown used to his eccentricities. They had just thought that he was Grissom being Grissom. Truth be told, he wasn't for once. Instead, the harsh track lighting had made his stomach flip-flop so severely that he had been afraid that he would contaminate the scene with his own vomit. He just hadn't wanted to admit that to the officers.

As Grissom peered around the room, illuminating the broken glass and upturned furniture, his earlier conversation with Sara replayed in his mind. She had taken everything that he had said--his compliment of her beauty, his admission that he had kept the picture of them on the fridge, his offer to accompany her to therapy--and twisted it into something hateful and ugly. From her comments, it seemed like Sara truly believed that he thought that she was unattractive, that the picture of them didn't mean any more to him that the magnet that had held it to the fridge, that she couldn't deal with therapy and him hovering all at the same time.

Grissom sighed, as his flashlight swept across pictures of the homeowners on their wedding day, at the beach, with their children in front of a Christmas tree. They were smiling in all of them, completely oblivious to the world that he and Sara lived in. From the looks of it, they knew nothing of serial killers, abusive exes, or mothers who took justice into their own hands. He doubted that they knew what it was like to be locked in a trunk or to jump out of a moving car, how quickly an overturned Mustang in the desert can fill up with water in a flash flood, how long it takes a person to dehydrate in the midday sun, that a person can walk for miles in the desert and still never find a road. They had probably never watched their mother kill their father, woken up in a strange bed in a strange house with no idea of what was going to happen next, stood over their son's crib, afraid that their mere touch would scar him for life. No, from the looks of it, the homeowners lived in a world where a kiss, a bouquet of flowers, and a heartfelt apology healed 95 percent of their wounds, time the other 5 percent.

Or at least they used to. Grissom knelt down and placed an evidence placard next to the discarded ropes that the suspects had used to bind the homeowners' hands. Tonight, their world had changed. Tonight, their world would be a lot closer to his and to Sara's.

"Good luck," Grissom whispered, as he stood back up. The homeowners were going to need it. He was going to need it.

Lord Alfred Tennyson had once wrote on the subject of depression, "Be near me when my light is low, when the blood creeps and the nerves prick and tingle; and the heart is sick, and all the wheels of Being slow." He knew that he needed to remember Tennyson's words. He needed to remember to stay near Sara, no matter how much she pushed him away. The books that he had bought and the web sites that he had visited had all told him the same thing: that loved ones who are depressed or suffering from PTSD often try to isolate themselves from their friends and family; that they may reject your attempts to help alleviate their pain and your demonstrations of love and support; that they may feel guilty, hopeless, or worthless; that they may be easily angered or irritated; and that they may lose trust in you, even if you don't give them a reason to. They told him that what they were going through was normal, even expected. They told him that it wasn't his fault.

Yet Grissom still felt like he was to blame for Sara's condition. He no more knew how to stop feeling like that than he did how to help Sara.

_Be near me when my light is low_. Grissom knew that he could do that much. Maybe I'll swing by the therapist's office after all, he thought to himself. He then placed another placard on the floor, marking another dark blight on the homeowners' formerly bright, peaceful world.

* * *

Sara sat in a chair in Dr. Young's office, quietly reflecting on her night as she played with the locket on the necklace that Ritchie and Cameron had given her.

Even after three cups of coffee, Warrick had still felt too tired to drive, so Sara had dropped him off at the jewelry store before heading to her scene on the Beltway. She had been grateful when she arrived at the scene to find that Greg wasn't the least bit perturbed by the extra work that he had inherited by agreeing to cover for her and Warrick. If anything, he had seemed concerned about Warrick, as concerned as he had been about her earlier that day. Sara wondered if Greg would have been as accepting of the extra work this time last year. She doubted it. Apparently, Warrick's shooting had changed a lot more people than Nick and Catherine.

Like Wendy. After Sara and Greg had returned to the lab, Wendy had brought her the DNA results from the hair found at the Mary Sullivan crime scene. Sara had almost asked her if she was sleeping with her husband, but she had stopped herself at the last minute. Instead, she had said, "Hey, um, Greg said that you're thinking about switching to field work."

"Yeah, I've been thinking about it for awhile. I guess Greg has made us all realize that there's life outside this lab."

"If you don't mind me asking, why haven't you done so yet?"

"It…just…really hasn't been the right time. With what happened to Warrick, and you and Grissom being gone, things have been really backed up around here. For awhile, everyone was working double and triple shifts, trying to catch the shooter, trying to work other cases, trying to spend time at the hospital with Warrick. Everyone's mind was elsewhere. I didn't think that it was the appropriate time to ask."

"Oh. Well, everyone is back now. You should talk to Catherine or Grissom about it."

"I'll think about it."

Sara had wanted to believe Wendy. She was trying to believe her, just like she was trying to believe Grissom about her and Maddie. She didn't know why it was so hard for her to believe people, so hard for her to trust. She had her suspicions. Maybe Connor was right. Maybe it was because of her mother. She was thinking of asking Dr. Young about it when she realized that the psychiatrist was already talking to her.

"Sara?" Dr. Young questioned.

Sara looked up from the spot on the rug that she had been staring at. "Huh?" she asked back.

"You know, this whole therapy thing works a lot better if you actually talk to me," Dr. Young answered.

"Oh," Sara said, dropping the necklace. She sat up straighter in the chair. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I just want you to get the benefit of a full hour. How has your week been going?"

"Fine," Sara responded, figuring it was the easiest answer to the doctor's question.

"Have you had any more panic attacks?"

"Just one," Sara said, returning her gaze to the floor. The admission still embarrassed her, even in the private confines of a psychiatrist's office. To Sara, it was the equivalent of confessing that she was weak, and she hated being weak, even worse than she hated being alone or mistrusting.

"Do you want to talk about what brought it on?"

Sara shrugged. "My husband came home."

"And that scared you?"

"Sort of."

"How sort of?" Dr. Young asked in an attempt to get Sara to elaborate. Sara, however, only shrugged again. "Were you scared that he would hurt you?"

"No. Gil's not like that," Sara stated, finally looking Dr. Young in the eyes.

"Then what were you scared of?"

Sara took a deep breath as she considered how to answer Dr. Young's question. "I was scared of…what his coming home might mean for us. There were some things about my past that I hadn't told him, things that are now kind of unavoidable, and I don't know. I guess I was afraid that once he found those things out, he wouldn't want anything to do with me."

"Do you want to tell me what those things are?"

"Well, I guess the most important one is that we have a son."

Dr. Young flipped through the legal pad that she had been holding. She read the notes that she had taken and then looked up at Sara. "Last week, you said that the two of you have a daughter."

"We do. Ava. We also have a son, Connor. He'll, uh, be nine next month."

"Nine. And you've been in Vegas how long?"

"Eight years."

"So you and your husband--do you prefer that I call him Gil or Grissom?"

"It doesn't matter."

"So you and Gil were obviously involved prior to you moving here?"

Sara nodded and said, "If you can call it that."

"What do you call it?"

Sara stared at the diplomas hung on the wall behind Dr. Young as she answered solemnly, "A one night stand. Some phone calls. Some emails. Some consultations. Not a lot else."

"It had to be more than that for you to move here."

"I thought it was, or maybe I just wanted it to be more."

"Because of Connor?"

"Because of Connor. Because of me. I wanted a life with a man who didn't want me back."

"Are you sure that he didn't want you?"

"He made it pretty clear through his actions that he didn't."

"Is that why it took you so long to tell him about Connor?"

"Partly. Every time that I tried to talk to Gil about something that wasn't work related, he would just shut me out or push me away."

"What's the other part?"

"I don't know. Shame. Guilt. Not wanting to disrupt the status quo."

"You were ashamed that you had a son?"

Sara looked back at the doctor. "No. I was ashamed that I didn't have my son with me."

"Where was he?"

"Back in San Francisco."

"With your brother?"

"No, with his father or with the man that I told him was his father anyway. When, uh, Gil and I met, I was living with someone, a guy I grew up with."

"What was his name?"

"Michael. Michael Barrett. He lived next door to us before my father died. He was my brother's best friend. I didn't really have a lot of friends back then so I guess he was sort of my best friend, too. He and Ritchie used to let me tag along with them everywhere."

"He sounds like a nice guy."

"He was…when were kids."

"I take it that means he wasn't such a nice guy once you grew up."

"He, uh, had his moments."

"But you got involved with him anyway. Do you know why that is?"

Sara returned her gaze to the floor as she admitted, "He was all I knew."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he was…familiar. Our life together was familiar."

"In what way?"

"We grew up together. We had known each other practically our whole lives."

"Was that the only way?" Dr. Young inquired. Sara didn't say anything in response. Instead, she began to fiddle with the necklace again. "Sara?"

"No," she said quietly.

"Did he hit you?"

"Yes." This time Dr. Young was quiet. Sara looked up and saw that she was writing on the legal pad. "I know what you're thinking."

"You do?" Dr. Young questioned, as she sat down her pen.

"You're thinking how can a woman with a Harvard education who works for the police department and who should know better get involved with a man who hits her."

"I wasn't thinking that all."

"Then what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that Michael must have reminded you a lot of your father."

Sara shook her head at the concept. "I didn't hate my father," she informed Dr. Young.

"But you hated Michael?"

"Sometimes."

"But you loved him, too?"

"I suppose. He wasn't always a bad guy."

"Who, Michael or your father?"

"Both. There were times when Michael was sweet, funny, considerate, romantic, generous. When he was like that, I wanted to believe that he could change. I wanted to believe that he had changed."

"_What is all this?" Sara asked, as she walked into the apartment that she shared with Michael. She had just finished dropping Grissom off at the airport, and all she wanted to do was pack her things and leave before Michael had the chance to realize she had been with someone else. Her friend Jessica had offered to let her stay on her sofa until she found her own place. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with whatever this was._

"_They're roses," Michael explained, looking up from the sofa where he sat._

"_I know they're roses. What are they doing all over the apartment?" Sara inquired, as she dropped her purse and keys onto the coffee table._

"_They're for you."_

"_They must have cost a fortune."_

"_You're worth it," Michael stated, as he stood up and tried to embrace Sara._

_Sara pushed him away. "You should have saved your money."_

_Michael sighed but allowed her to put distance between them. "How was the conference?" he asked._

"_It was fine."_

"_You didn't have to stay at the hotel."_

"_Yes, I did."_

"_I'm sorry. I never meant to--"_

"_To what, hurt me? Yeah, I've heard that before," Sara said, crossing her arms in anger._

"_I know, and I'm sorry. I've had a lot of time to think while you were gone."_

"_So have I."_

"_I messed up, Sara. I've been messing up a lot lately."_

"_Just lately?"_

"_Okay. I've been messing up for awhile. I should have never hit you. I should have never yelled at you. I should have never called you names."_

"_No, you shouldn't have."_

"_I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't know why I get so angry, but I'm trying to find out. Look," Michael said, as he took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Sara._

"_What is it?" Sara asked._

"_It's a note from Dr. Kroger."_

"_The department shrink?"_

"_Yes. I've seen him twice this week. I've also signed up for anger management classes."_

"_So?"_

"_So I don't want to lose you, Sara. You are, without a doubt, the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I'm willing to do whatever it takes--go to classes, see a shrink, whatever you want--to make sure that that never happens."_

"_It already has. I'm just here to get my things," Sara declared, as she turned around and headed for the bedroom._

_Michael followed her. "Okay, I deserved that. Hell, I deserve a lot worse. I'm just asking you to give me a second chance."_

_Sara pulled her suitcase out from under the bed. "I've already given you a second chance and a third and a fourth. You always say that you're going to change, and you never do."_

"_I know, but it's different this time."_

_Sara opened the suitcase and began filling it with her clothes from the dresser. "Yes, because this time I'm actually leaving."_

"_Sara, please. Look at me," Michael directed, putting himself between Sara and the dresser. When Sara looked past him at the wall, he reached out and touched her cheek, prompting her to look at him. However, he could tell from the set of her jaw that the touch was not enough. "What do you want me to do, Sara? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg? Fine," Michael said, kneeling down. "I'm on my knees. Just give me a chance. One more. That's all I'm asking."_

_Sara looked down at him, sadness softening her jaw. "I'm sorry. I can't."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because I can't be her. I can't be my mother."_

_Michael stood up. He took Sara by the arms and looked her in the eye. "Is that what this is all about? You think you're turning into Laura?" Sara looked away again, as a single tear fell down her cheek, answering Michael's question. "Honey, you're nothing like her."_

_Sara looked back at him. "That's not what you said last week."_

"_I know. If I could take that back, I would. I was angry. I didn't mean it."_

_Sara pulled away from him and walked to the other side of the room. "It doesn't make it any less true."_

"_Sara, you're nothing like your mother."_

"_The fact that I'm standing here right now says that I am."_

"_No, it doesn't. You're strong, smart, determined, funny--"_

"_My mother was those things once, too. She let my father take those things away from her. She let him…break her."_

"_Is that what you think I'm doing to you? Am I breaking you?"_

"_It feels like it sometimes."_

_Michael sat slowly on the bed. "I'm sorry, Sara. I never meant to make you feel like that. I never meant to make you feel less than who you are."_

"_Which is what? Who am I?"_

"_The woman I love." Sara snickered at Michael's answer, as more tears fell down her face. Michael got up from the bed, walked over to Sara, and attempted to wipe away the tears. "I do love you, Sara. I love the way you chew on your bottom lip when you're nervous, like you're doing right now." Sara, who hadn't been aware that she had been doing so, stopped chewing. "I love the way you sing under your breath when you're working on something. I love the way your eyes light up when you talk about anything scientific. I love the way your hair curls up in the rain, no matter how much you want it not to." Michael brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. He then leaned over and kissed Sara behind her right ear. Sara, to her own surprise, didn't push him away. "I love this spot right here, and here," he said, moving down to her neck, "and here," moving back up to her cheek. "And I really love this spot right here," he continued, rubbing her lower lip before kissing it._

_Although Sara knew she shouldn't, she kissed Michael back, and then she let him lead her over to the bed, lay her down, undress her, touch her, and make love to her. He had been so gentle, so un-Michael-like, that when it was over, when he stroked her hair and promised that this time would be different, she had even allowed herself to believe him._

_It had been different for awhile, and then one day it wasn't. It was the same as it had always been._

"Was your father ever like that?" Dr. Young asked.

"All the time," Sara conceded.

"_Hey, Princess," her father said, knocking on her bedroom door. A six-year-old Sara looked up but didn't say anything. "You're still mad at me. I don't blame you. I'm still mad at me, too." He walked over and sat down on the edge of Sara's bed._

"_You hurt my arm," Sara said, her bottom lip trembling._

_Her father reached out and gingerly touched the cast on Sara's arm. "I know, Princess. I'm sorry. I got you something." He took his right hand from behind his back and showed her the gift-wrapped box that he was holding._

"_What is it?" Sara asked._

"_Open it and see." Sara tried to take the box with her one good hand but nearly dropped it. "Here, let me help you," her father said, placing it in her lap. Together, they unwrapped the box. Sara pulled out what was inside. _

"_It's a Charlie's Angel doll, just like on the commercial."_

"_I got you Sabrina. She's the smartest one, just like my princess."_

_Sara gave her father a one-armed hug. "Thank you, Daddy." She then sat back on the bed and looked at her father. "I don't like it when you drink."_

"_I know, Princess. I'm going to stop. I promise. You know Daddy loves you, right?"_

_Sara nodded and said, "I love you, too, Daddy."_

"But it never lasted, and then one day he was just…gone," Sara informed Dr. Young.

"But Michael didn't leave?" the psychiatrist asked.

"No, he didn't."

"Sara, have you ever considered that your relationship with Michael was a way for you to hold onto your father or some semblance of your father?"

"No. Not really."

"Then why do you think you stayed with Michael?"

Sara sighed and gave Dr. Young the answer she had given Grissom. "Because he was my punishment."

"Your punishment for what?"

"For not saving my father."

"Did you think that that was job, to save him?"

"I was there that night. I could have done something to stop my mother. I could have done something to save him."

"Or you could have gotten killed yourself."

Sara played with her wedding ring as she said, "Sometimes I think that might have been better."

If Dr. Young was surprised by Sara's response, she didn't show it. Instead, she asked, "Better for whom?"

"Better for everyone."

"How so?"

"For starters, my brother could have had the life that he chose instead of the life that chose him."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he was supposed to go to college, art school actually. Rhode Island School of Design. He got a full scholarship, but he turned it down."

"And you blame yourself for that?"

"He did it so he could take care of me. When Ritchie aged out of foster care, he promised that he'd come back for me. He went to Michael's father, who was a cop, and asked for his help getting into the police academy. Ritchie thought that he'd be able to get custody of me once he was a full-fledge member of the San Francisco PD."

"Was he?"

"No, so he gave up his dream for nothing."

"Was it for nothing?"

"What do you mean?" Sara asked, looking up.

"I mean Ritchie could have reapplied, gone the next semester, but he didn't."

"So?"

"So maybe your brother found out that he liked being a cop. Maybe he liked the fact that he's doing some good in this world." Sara snickered at the suggestion. "Do you doubt that he likes being a cop?"

"What I doubt is that he is doing some good in this world," Sara said firmly. "For every murderer my brother takes off the streets, there are another five waiting to take his place."

"Is that how you feel about your job as well?"

"Honestly, yes, I do. No matter how hard we try, no matter how many crimes we solve, we can never catch up."

"So you see your job as a hopeless profession?"

"Yes, I suppose I do."

"Did you also feel hopeless when Gil came home?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"You said that you thought that he wouldn't want anything to do with you once he found out about Connor. Why did you think that?"

"Because I lied to him for nearly ten years or omitted the truth, take your pick."

"Why didn't you tell Gil about Connor sooner?"

"I didn't know how."

"Couldn't you have just called him and told him that you were pregnant?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. It was complicated."

"Because of Michael?"

"Partly. He really wanted a kid. I didn't think Gil did."

"What did you want?"

"To turn back time."

"So you didn't want the pregnancy?"

"I was scared to want it."

"Why?"

"I didn't think that I could be a good mother."

"Because of your own mother?"

Sara nodded. "I didn't want to be like her or my father for that matter."

"So why didn't you terminate the pregnancy?"

Sara shrugged. "I don't know. I thought about it, but in the end I just couldn't. "

"But you couldn't tell Gil either?" Sara shook her head in response. "So you let Michael think he was the father?"

"Yes."

"And the three of you were a family for awhile?"

"Yes."

"And then you moved here?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't Michael and Connor move with you?"

"Michael didn't want to leave San Francisco."

"And Connor?"

"Michael didn't think he was safe with me. I agreed."

"He thought you were a danger to Connor?"

"'Like mother, like daughter,' is what he always liked to say."

"Did you ever think that Michael might also be a danger to Connor?"

Sara shook her head. "Except for the night I took Connor back, Michael never laid a hand on him. He just reserved his anger for me."

"How do you know?"

"Because Connor told me. He said that Michael yelled a lot, but he never hit him."

"And you believed him?"

"Connor's not like me. He doesn't lie, at least not about things like that."

"But you had to realize that there was a possibility?"

"Of course, but I figured that the possibility was the lesser of two evils."

"What was the other evil?"

"The possibility that I might snap one day and go after my son with a knife."

"Is that also the reason you didn't tell Gil about Connor once you moved here?"

"No. Well, maybe a little, but mostly it had to do with Gil."

"How so?"

"Let's just say he made it very clear that we didn't have a future together other than in a professional sense. After the Holly Gribbs case was over, I went to his office to tell him about Connor. I had this whole speech prepared. I just never got to say it."

"What happened?"

"He told me that the night we spent together was a mistake, that if he could take it back, he would, that he was sorry. Then he offered me a job."

"How did that feel?"

"How do you think? Horrible. I felt…used…undesirable…worthless."

"But you accepted his job offer anyway?"

"Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"I guess because I'm a glutton for punishment, because I tend to be attracted to emotionally unavailable men, because I couldn't let go of a nearly two-year-old fantasy of what our life could be like together, take your pick."

"How did you think it could be? Let me rephrase that. How did you want your life with Gil to be?"

Sara looked down at her wedding ring as she spoke. "I wanted our life to be what I never had growing up. I wanted it to be about two people who loved each other, who could be in a room with each other without hitting or screaming or hurting the other one, who could put their children ahead of their own anger and their own messed-up lives."

"Is that what you have now?"

"Not really."

"Then what do you have?"

"A life where two people are just trying to do the best they can."

"Sometimes that's all people can do, Sara." Sara shrugged at the comment. After making a note on her legal pad, Dr. Young asked, "How did Gil take the news when you finally told him about Connor?"

"Oh, he was the perfect gentleman. He was caring, understanding, and forgiving. He tried to make me feel better about my choices."

"You say that as if something's wrong with that."

"It is. Gil didn't mean anything that he said."

"How do you know?"

"Because he told me later. He hates that I lied to him. He hates that I kept his children from him. He hates that I left Vegas. I suspect that a part of him even hates that I came back."

"His feelings are understandable."

"I know."

"How do you feel?"

"About what?"

"About what you've done?"

"I hate me, too."

"Do you think that's how Gil feels, that he hates you and not just the things you've done?"

"Sometimes. I think he's just too decent to admit it."

"Do you hate Gil?"

"No. Of course not," Sara responded, looking up.

"But he hurt you, too. He told you that you were a mistake. He pushed you away for years. He didn't go after you when you left last year. He cheated on you with this…" Dr. Young paused as she read over her notes. "With this Lady Heather person. In a way, he was even the reason Natalie took you."

"I know."

"But that doesn't anger you?"

"Of course it does, but I don't hate him for it. I'm not even sure I blame him."

"Then who do you blame?"

"Me."

"You've been blaming yourself for a lot of things lately, haven't you?"

"I suppose. Is that part of post traumatic stress disorder?"

'It can be, but given what you've told me about Connor and Michael, I think your issues with guilt predate your kidnapping. Would you agree with that?"

"I abandoned my son. I lied to the man I love for nearly ten years. I failed my brother and my father way before that, so yeah, I guess I would agree."

"Sara, I think that, before we can even begin to address the post traumatic stress, we need to take a look at the bigger picture here."

"Which is what, that I'm a nut case and have been for awhile?"

"No, Sara, you're not a nut case."

"Then what am I?"

"Someone who has had a lot of bad things happen to her and who maybe hasn't reacted to those things in the healthiest way. Tell me this. Do you remember how you felt after your father died?"

"Sure. I was sad, or I guess devastated is a better word. I was scared, alone. I didn't know what was going to happen to me."

"Did you tell anyone how you felt?"

"I don't know. I probably told my brother. Mostly, I think I just cried."

"That's understandable. Crying is a natural reaction to emotional trauma. In moderation, it's even healthy. Studies have shown that tears actually remove stress hormones and other toxins from the body. "

"Well, I wish those studies had been around when I was a kid."

"Why's that?"

"My foster parents didn't like that they got stuck with some crying, emotional wreck of a kid. They took me to this shrink, who gave them peace in a bottle."

"I take it that that means that the doctor prescribed antidepressants."

"Yes."

"How did the antidepressants make you feel?"

"Numb. Not happy. Not sad. Just numb."

"How long were you on them?"

"I don't know. A few months maybe, until social services transferred me and Ritchie to another home."

"When you stopped taking the antidepressants, did you start back crying?"

"No. I wanted to, but I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"I didn't want my new foster parents to put me back on them."

"So when you felt scared, alone, or sad, what did you do?"

"Nothing. I just pretended like everything was okay."

"That's not much different from the way you acted after your kidnapping, is it?"

"No, I suppose it's not."

"If your son or daughter was feeling those things you felt as a child, would you want them to tell you, or would you want them to suppress their emotions and act like everything was okay?"

"I'd want them to tell me."

"Yet when you feel those same feelings, even now, you think that it's better not to tell anyone. Would you agree with that statement?"

"I suppose."

"Do you know why you feel that way?"

"No," Sara mumbled.

"I think you do."

"Okay. Fine. I do know. I don't tell anyone how I feel because I'm scared that they'll think that I'm crazy or that they won't have anything to do with me."

Dr. Young looked at Sara for a moment before continuing, "Tell me this. When Connor has a nightmare or Ava cries, do you think that they're crazy?"

"No, of course not."

"Do you want to disown them?"

"No."

"And what about your friends and coworkers?"

"What about them?"

"A lot of them have been through some pretty terrifying experiences. Nick Stokes was kidnapped and buried alive. Greg Sanders was attacked. Warrick Brown and Jim Brass were shot."

"So?"

"So I'm sure that both during and after those experiences they felt a lot like you did--scared, alone, sad."

"I'm sure that they did, too."

"So did you think that they were crazy for feeling that way?"

"No."

"Did you stop wanting to have anything to do with them?"

"No."

"And yet you believe that they would think that you're crazy or that they would disown you if you admitted that you felt the same way."

Sara shrugged. "Is that your way of telling me that I shouldn't feel that way?"

"No, it's my way of making you realize that you shouldn't. It's okay to feel, Sara, and it's okay to let other people know that you do. Look. I want you to do something for me this week."

"What, you're giving me homework?"

"If you want to call it that. I want you to keep a thought journal."

"A thought journal?" Sara asked skeptically.

"Yes, a thought journal. Anytime you have a negative thought, I want you to write it down and the circumstances surrounding the thought."

Sara thought about how many negative thoughts she had been having lately and admitted, "I may need more than one journal."

"That may be. Use as many as you need, and then bring them with you to your session next week."

"And then we'll do what exactly?"

"We'll use what you wrote to help identify your negative core beliefs--"

"My negative core beliefs?" Sara asked, interrupting the doctor.

"Yes, you're negative core beliefs. They're the negative things that you believe about yourself, like if you cry, no one is going to want you anymore or they're going to think you're crazy. Then we'll go through those beliefs and see how they affect your everyday life--how you treat yourself, how you treat others, how you react to certain events and situations. Once we do that, we'll develop ways for you to replace those core beliefs with positive ones."

"Sounds like fun," Sara said sarcastically.

"It's not supposed to be fun, Sara, but I promise it's going to help." Dr. Young looked at her watch. "It looks like we're out of time." She stood up, as did Sara. Dr. Young then walked Sara to the door. "So do you think you can do the journal for me?"

"Yeah, sure," Sara muttered, although she was less than thrilled at the prospect.

"It really will help, Sara."

"I believe you."

Sara bid goodbye to Dr. Young and walked down the hall towards the lobby, wrapping her arms around herself. Even though the day was bound to end up in the 90's or even the lower 100's, Sara still felt cold. She wanted to blame the building's air conditioner, but she couldn't. She knew what was really causing the chill--the idea of having to keep a journal of her thoughts. Scratch that, Sara thought. A journal of my negative thoughts. Of course, that's mostly all I have these days, she continued.

She was rather disturbed by the idea. She hadn't kept a diary since her foster sister Amanda found hers and passed out copies of it to the entire seventh grade. Now Dr. Young not only wanted her keep another one, but apparently she wanted her to carry it around with her as well. What was she supposed to do tomorrow night at a crime scene, say, "Wait, guys. I'm having a negative thought about this dead body on the floor. Give me a minute to write it down, and then we'll go dust for fingerprints?" Yeah, that was going to go over well.

Sara was so preoccupied by the notion of carrying a thought journal to a crime scene or, worse, being caught with it that she didn't even see Grissom sitting in one of the lobby chairs until he stood up and called out her name.

"Sara."

Sara stopped and blinked a couple of times. She then asked, "Gil, what are you doing here?"

"I was waiting for you."

"But I thought I told you not to."

"You did."

"So why did you come?"

"Because I wanted you to know that I was here for you, even if you don't want me to be."

"It's not that I don't want you to be here. It's just…I don't want you to see me like this."

"Like what?"

Sara hugged herself tighter and looked down at the floor. "Vulnerable," she admitted quietly.

Grissom took Sara by the arms and said, " 'Love is not love until love's vulnerable.' "

Sara smiled at the comment and looked up at Grissom. "You have a quote for everything, don't you?"

"Not everything," he conceded, lifting one hand to stroke her cheek.

Sara blinked at the touch but did not move away. "You should really work on that then," she joked half-heartedly.

"Yeah, maybe I should." Grissom moved his hand to the middle of her back and told her, "Let's go home."


	85. Chapter 85

Warrick cursed under his breath, as he dropped the keys to his apartment on the breezeway. Nick had talked him into breakfast at Frank's and had tried to get him to open up about Catherine and Adam Novak over soggy pancakes, but Warrick had quickly steered him away from the topic. For some reason his sleep-deprived brain couldn't explain, he felt embarrassed talking about Catherine's infidelity with Nick. Maybe it was because Nick knew more than he wanted him to know about Tina's indiscretions. Maybe it was because he had been the one to first confront Warrick about the drugs. Maybe it was because he was the one who found him in the car, or maybe it was because Warrick just wasn't ready to face the truth. The more people he told about Catherine, the more real the betrayal became, and the more it was apparent, at least to him anyway, that, despite everything that had happened to him, his life had come full circle. He was right back to where he was a year ago, angry and alone.

Warrick was thankful that the new schedule that Grissom and Catherine had posted had given him the night off. He needed sleep, distance, and time to think, not necessarily in that order, but he couldn't seem to get his act together enough to open the front door. Picking up the keys, he was about to try the lock again when Catherine opened the door for him.

"I thought that was you," she said, eying his bent over form.

Warrick straightened up and asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I was worried about you. You wouldn't answer my calls earlier."

Warrick pushed past her and entered the apartment. "I was trying to sleep."

"You were also avoiding me at work," Catherine explained, shutting the apartment door.

"I wasn't avoiding you, Catherine," Warrick said, dropping his keys on the bar. "I was working."

"Really?" Catherine asked, crossing her arms in disbelief. "Then what was that whole bad sushi thing that Sara was talking about?"

"It wasn't a thing," Warrick said, walking away from Catherine and into the living room. He sat on the sofa and started rubbing at his temples, as Catherine followed him, unwilling to let the issue go.

"Right. Gil might have bought that excuse for why you were late, but I didn't. You don't even eat sushi."

"Actually, I do, Catherine."

"Really? Since when?"

"Since college."

"Uh-huh."

"Believe it or not, Catherine, you don't know everything that there is to know about me, just like I don't know everything that there is to know about you. Speaking of which, how's Adam Novak?"

Catherine sighed and sat in the arm chair opposite the sofa. "It wasn't what you think," she told Warrick.

"Yeah. Then what was it? Because it looked a lot like foreplay to me."

"Nothing happened."

"Right," Warrick said, the tone of his voice making it evident to Catherine that he didn't believe her.

"I swear," she pleaded. "Nothing happened between me and Adam Novak."

"And why should I believe you?"

"Because you know me, Warrick."

"Obviously not."

"Well, then because you know my mother." Catherine got up, retrieved the phone from its cradle, and handed it to Warrick. "Here. Call and ask her. She can verify that nothing happened."

Warrick, realizing that the real reason nothing had happened between Catherine and Adam had less to do with him and more to do with Lily's bad timing, tossed the phone on coffee table, stood up, and walked back into the kitchen. Gripping the edge of the bar, his back to Catherine, he asked, "You seriously want me to ask Lily?"

"Yes, she was there, but you know that already. She said she saw you in the elevator."

"Yeah, she did."

"Then you also know that there wasn't time for anything to happen before she made it upstairs."

Warrick slowly turned around to face Catherine. "Do you hear yourself right now, Catherine? Nothing happened because there wasn't time? Is that supposed to make it okay? Is that supposed to make me forgive you?"

"No, but--"

"But what, Catherine? You would have never let things go that far because you wouldn't do that to me, because you care about me, because you love me, what?"

"Yes, all of those things."

"Funny, you didn't start out by saying those things first. You just said there wasn't time."

"I meant to. I just wasn't thinking."

"Like it would have mattered if you were."

Catherine sat staring at the mugs on the coffee table as she tried to think of something to say that would reassure Warrick that he was the only man in her life. Because her mind was thus preoccupied, it took her a few minutes to realize that one of the mugs had the telltale signs of lipstick on the rim. Clenching her jaw, she stood up and grabbed the lipstick-stained mug. She then answered Warrick's question. "Apparently, it wouldn't have." She walked into the kitchen and handed Warrick the mug. "It's not really my color."

Warrick looked down at the mug. Instead of explaining that the color was, in fact, Sara's, he simply shrugged and place the mug on the bar.

"Unbelievable," Catherine said and walked out the door.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Warrick muttered.

After grabbing a beer from the fridge, Warrick proceeded to the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he retrieved the bottle of Ambien from the nightstand. "One more shouldn't hurt."

* * *

_Grissom slowly walked around the outer edges of the bathroom, as he fought an almost overwhelming urge to throw open the shower stall and check for a pulse. He knew what he would find if he did. Her pulse had long since ceased, the warmth of life replaced by the silent chill of death. David had already confirmed as much on the way in, so instead of opening the blood-streaked door, Grissom chose to hug the sterile walls and put as much distance as he could muster between himself and the shower._

_Catherine followed behind him a few minutes later. "Wow, would you look at this bathroom? No wonder you never wanted to sell it. This bathroom is worth more than the entire apartment."_

"_Actually, it's a townhouse."_

"_Townhouse. Apartment. Either way, you're going to have to disclose that a woman was murdered here should you ever try to sell it." Catherine, fascinated by the scene in the shower, approached it eagerly. "Has she always had that butterfly tattoo?" Catherine asked him._

"_I don't know," he admitted._

"_How can you not know? She's your wife, or at least she was." Catherine bent down and tilted her head to get a closer look at the body kneeling on the shower floor. "You know, she looks just like Debbie Marlin, or maybe it was Debbie Marlin who looked just like her. What do you think?"_

"_I think that my wife is dead."_

"_That she is." Catherine stood up and stated, "Poor kid. She could never catch any breaks, could she?" Turning around, she then said, "Don't answer that. It was a rhetorical question, but you can answer this. Were Sara and Debbie alike in more ways than one?"_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I mean did she have a taste for silk?"_

"_Catherine…"_

"_Hey, I'm not judging if she did. Or were you the one with the taste? It would explain the whole Lady Heather affair."_

"_Catherine, this is neither the time nor the place."_

"_Of course, it's not. We'll talk later. You grieve or do whatever it is that you need to do. I'm going to go find some yogurt."_

_Grissom watched his colleague leave. However, once alone, he slowly made his way to the shower stall, opened the shower door with the sleeve of his shirt, and bent down in front of Sara's body. He then slid on a pair of latex gloves. Even now, even with Sara being the one in front of him, he still couldn't risk contaminating the crime scene._

_In doing so, he remembered what he had told Vincent Lurie a few years earlier. "It's sad, isn't it, Doc? Guys like us, a couple of middle-aged men who've allowed their work to consume their lives. The only time we ever touch other people is when we're wearing our latex gloves."_

_Grissom sighed at the memory. "I'm sorry that I was right about that, Sara," he said, touching her cheek with one gloved finger. "I didn't want to be."_

_Other words filled his head as he continued to look at her, at the gash in her throat, at the blood that pooled beneath her. "You risked it all, and she showed you a wonderful life, didn't she? But then she took it away and gave it to someone else, and you were lost."_

_Unable to stand looking into her eyes and the wonderful life that they no longer reflected, Grissom reached out and gently shut them. He was lost now, too._

Grissom opened his own eyes with a start. Even with Sara back in his life, he continued to have nightmares about losing her. He turned over, hoping that the visual reassurance that she was sleeping safely next to him would be enough to lull him back to sleep. However, much to his surprise, he found that her side of the bed was empty.

"Sara?" he called out, but she didn't answer him back.

The image of Sara kneeling on the shower floor, her throat slit, the life literally drained out of her still fresh in his head, Grissom got out of bed and checked the bathroom for his wife. While the rational part of him knew that it was just a dream, the emotional side still feared that one day one of his nightmares would come true. It had happened before, when Natalie had taken her, when she had left a few months later in the middle of the night. Despite their current difficulties, Grissom did not want to lose her again.

Luckily, he found the bathroom both bloodless and empty. Grissom sighed heavily and allowed his heartbeat to slow down some before he continued the search upstairs. Finding Sara in neither Connor nor Ava's room, he knew that she could only be one other place in the townhouse: downstairs. Even with this knowledge, he was still anxious to descend the stairs. A part of him couldn't help but wonder whether she would be there waiting for him or whether she would be gone again, taking back the wonderful life she had given him, much the same way her doppelganger had taken it from Vincent Lurie.

"There you are," Grissom stated, unable to hide the relief in his voice after he walked down the stairs and saw Sara sitting on the farthest corner of the sofa. The drapes in the living room were still drawn shut, blocking out most of the morning sunlight. The few rays that made it through failed to chase the shadows from her face.

Grissom had noticed that Sara had been unusually quiet on the way home. He had left his car in the lab's parking lot after persuading Catherine to drive him to the therapist's office so that he could accompany Sara home. He had offered to drive, but Sara had insisted that, while vulnerable, she was nevertheless fit to operate a car. He hadn't argued with her. If she needed to drive to feel more in control, then Grissom was more than happy to appease her, especially in light of the fact that his migraine had not completely subsided.

Sara had given him a half-smile as she had started the car. Grissom had taken that smile as a sign of improvement until he had realized that she was not singing along with the radio. While he had never known Sara to belt out a tune, he had grown accustomed to the half-humming, half-singing thing that she did under her breath when they were in a car together. Not only had she not exhibited the melodic mannerism, but she had turned the radio off altogether, forgoing the music for silence.

"Are you okay?" he had asked her.

"Yeah, I just don't really feel like music at the moment," she had answered.

Grissom had wanted to ask her what she and Dr. Young had talked about, but he had decided not to. He had feared that the question would upset or anger her. They had already had enough set backs in the last few days. He didn't want to voluntarily add to them so he had remained silent as well. When they had gotten home, Rachel had informed them that Ava had fallen asleep early. Sara had gone upstairs to check on her and not come back down. Eventually, Grissom had gone up to check on them both and found Sara standing over Ava's crib, her back to the door.

"Everything okay in here?" he had asked.

Sara wiped at her face and then turned around. "Everything's fine," she had answered. "I was just watching her sleep."

"Are you ready for some breakfast?"

"No, I, um, think I'm just going to go to bed."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, but you go ahead and eat. I'll fix something when I wake up."

Sara had started to walk around him but had then stopped. "I love you," she has told him quietly. "I just wanted you to know that."

When he had joined her in bed, she was already asleep, or so Grissom had thought.. Now here she was, sitting in the dark, clearly awake. Sara looked up at him as he approached the sofa.

"Here I am," she replied.

"I woke up, and you were gone," he told her.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Are you okay?"

"I think that's the tenth time you've asked me that this morning."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. In answer to your question, yes, I'm okay. I guess my mind wasn't ready to go to bed just yet."

Grissom noticed that Sara was holding some sort of binder in her lap. He nodded in its direction and asked, "What are you looking at?"

Sara looked down at the binder and answered, "It's a photo album, or I guess scrapbook is the more appropriate word."

"Scrapbook?" Grissom asked, as he sat down next to her.

Sara glanced over at him. "Yeah, as you can probably imagine, I got bored on bed rest. Cammie thought that it would be a good idea if I started one for the kids. She said that everyone should know who their family is."

"That's true. They should."

Sara looked back down at the scrapbook and ran her hand over the open pages. Her voice became more solemn as she expounded on the reason she had started it. "You know, when they take you to foster care, they don't exactly let you pack a lot of things, basically just what you can fit in a suitcase. Even if social services had let me take more, I wasn't exactly in the frame of mind to pack much more than that that night. Anyway, I, um, didn't get to take any pictures of my family other than the one that was next to my bed. After the police released our house as a crime scene, Michael's parents went in, got anything they thought we would want, like pictures and my grandmother's china, and kept it for us until Ritchie got out of foster care."

"That was nice of them."

"Yeah, it was. They, uh, wanted to take us in, too, but the Barretts already had six kids, and I don't know. I guess they just didn't have the room or the money for two more mouths. Ritchie never really got around to doing anything with the pictures. He framed a few, but he just kept most of them in a box, so Cammie went and bought all these scrapbooking supplies, and we made this. Connor would help me with it when he came home from school. I guess you could say it was kind of a bonding experience for us, which, in retrospect, was probably the real reason Cammie suggested that I do it."

Grissom looked at the picture on the page that Sara had stopped at. A smiling family of four, along with Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck, stood in front of what Grissom assumed was Cinderella's Castle at Disney World. "Is that you?" Grissom asked, pointing at the pig-tailed girl in the picture.

"Uh-huh," Sara mumbled.

"You look happy," Grissom commented, as he noticed how Sara's smile had changed very little over the years.

Grissom's comment solicited another smile from Sara. "I was," she admitted, as she fingered the picture. "I was four, and my parents were in one of their honeymoon phases. They were laughing and holding hands the entire day, and my dad, whenever I'd get tired of walking, he would pick me up and carry me on his shoulders. I remember thinking that I never wanted to go home. I don't know. I guess I thought that Disney World really was magical and that's why my parents were getting along so well. I thought that if we left, they'd just start fighting again. I cried like a baby when we had to get back on that plane."

Seeing how quickly Sara's smile had disappeared with the last statement, Grissom risked putting his arm around her shoulders. When Sara stiffened at his touch, Grissom was prepared to move his arm and apologize. Sara, however, relaxed before he could, leaned into him, and laid her head on his shoulder. She then turned the page to a picture of an older man and girl, sans pigtails, in front of a Christmas tree. "When was that taken?" Grissom asked.

Sara, her voice growing even more somber, replied, "The Christmas before my father died."

"You look sad."

"My parents were fighting a lot then. They couldn't even bother to stop for Christmas."

"I'm sorry."

"My dad gave me a diary that Christmas. It was pink with a tiara on the front, and it had this silver heart lock. He used to call me his princess. I don't know why. It's not like I ran around in frilly dresses and ribbons in my hair."

"I'm sure he called you that because he loved you."

"I guess," Sara said, shrugging. She reached out with her right hand and touched the picture of her and her father in front of the Christmas tree. She then began to trace small circles around her father's face with one finger as she continued, "When my father gave it to me, the told me that all princesses needed a place to keep their secrets. I know that sounds pretty corny, but I guess it stuck with me because it was one of the few things that I remembered to take with me that night. I really didn't write a lot in it before he died, just typical kid stuff, like what boy I liked or how I hated my teacher for giving me too much homework, but afterwards, I started writing in it more. I'd write about how much I missed him, how I wished my mother would get out of jail or I could just run away, how lonely I was, how sometimes I wished my mother had just killed me, too."

Grissom, startled by the admission, silently wished that he could go back in time and erase the pain from Sara's childhood. Knowing, however, that such a thing was impossible, he settled for giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. He didn't know if Sara felt any strength or comfort from the gesture, but she did continue to talk about the diary.

"I, um, thought that I had hidden it pretty well. I had cut a slit in the fabric underneath the box springs of my bed and stuck the diary on top of one of the wooden slats. I guess I thought that no one would think to look for it there, but someone did. One of my foster siblings, Amanda, found it, made copies of it at the library, and passed the copies out to pretty much the entire school. I didn't even know that she had found it until I got to school the next day, and everyone was pointing and laughing at me."

"Nice sister."

"Tell me about it. After that, everyone started calling me 'Sara Suicidal' instead of Sara Sidle. Eventually, they just shortened it to Suicidal. They called me that all the way through high school."

"Didn't the teachers do anything?"

"No, not really. Most of them just pretended like they didn't hear what the students were calling me. Some actually laughed along with them. The only one who ever stuck up for me was my seventh grade science teacher, Mr. Green. He kind of took me under his wing. I'd stay after school and help him set up experiments for the next day, grade papers, whatever he needed. "

"I suppose that explains your interest in science."

"Yes, I suppose it does." Sara shut the scrapbook, leaned forward, and placed it on the coffee table. Her arms now free, she leaned back, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapped them around her legs. Propping her chin on her knees, she stared off into the distance as she told Grissom, "Dr. Young wants me to start keeping a diary again, although she calls it a thought journal instead of a diary. I'm supposed to carry it around with me so I can write down all my negative thoughts and bring it to session next week. It's ridiculous, right?"

"Not if she thinks it will help."

"She says it will help me recognize my negative core beliefs so that we can change them into positive ones, or something like that."

"That doesn't sound like such a bad idea."

Sara shrugged and turned her head so that she was looking at Grissom and her left cheek was resting on her knees. "She also wants me to stop suppressing my emotions."

"Again not a bad idea."

"I guess," Sara conceded. 'It's just…It's just hard to let people in sometimes, especially when you've spent most of your life shutting them out."

"Trust me. I know."

"Yeah, I guess you do."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. When Sara closed her eyes, Grissom suggested, "We should probably go upstairs and try to get some sleep."

Sara opened her eyes and said, "I'm not sure if I can. I think I'm still too wound up."

"Well, I do believe I owe you a massage. Maybe it will relax you enough that you can sleep."

"Hmm. That sounds nice," Sara admitted. "I might just take you up on that offer." Grissom stood up and offered Sara his hand. She smiled, put her feet back down on the floor, took Grissom's hand, and stood up. However, before they could move from beside the couch, Ava started crying upstairs. Both Sara and Grissom looked upwards, as Sara sighed and said, "Or not."

"It's okay. I'll get her," Grissom told Sara.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, you just go lie down."

Sara followed Grissom upstairs but took a right into the master bedroom when he took a left. Finding her side of the bed already occupied, Sara loudly cleared her throat, gaining the attention of prostrate form. Hank lifted his head off of Sara's pillow and looked at her. "Move it, mutt," Sara directed. Hank, ignoring her, laid his head back down on the pillow. Sara walked around to that side, took a handful of comforter, and yanked it and Hank towards her. The dog, seeming to resign himself to the inevitable, jumped up and returned to his previous position at the foot of the bed. "Well, excuse me," Sara muttered.

Sara, seeing the doggy drool on her pillow, sighed and turned the pillow over before lying down. She closed her eyes and tried to resist the urge to go down the hall and see why Ava was still crying. She didn't want Grissom to think that she didn't trust him to take care of their daughter, but he had only known Ava for a few days. He still didn't know which cry meant what. Sometimes she didn't either.

Sara opened her eyes when Ava's cries got closer. Seeing Grissom standing beside her with Ava, she sat up and asked, "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Grissom admitted. "I changed her diaper, but she won't stop crying, and she keeps doing that thing with her hand."

Sara smiled. She knew exactly what Ava stretching her arm out and repeatedly opening and closing her hand meant. Reaching for Ava, she explained, "She wants her blankie."

"The pink one?" Grissom asked, handing Ava to Sara.

"That's the one."

"I'll be right back."

Sara held Ava to her chest and patted her on the back. "Shh. It's okay, baby. Daddy's going to get it." Grissom returned a few seconds later with the blanket in hand. Sara, surprised by his haste, asked, "What did you do, run?"

"It was more of a trot," Grissom answered.

"Hmm," Sara mumbled, as she gave Ava her blankie. The little girl's crying began to subside.

"What? I don't like it when she cries."

"Neither do I. It's sweet that you hurried."

Grissom sat down on his side of the bed and watched Ava rub her face in the blanket until the crying stopped. "That actually worked," he said, surprised.

"Did you think that I was wrong?"

"No, it's just…I can't believe she was crying that much over a blanket."

"Well, she's five months old, Gil. She can't exactly say, 'Yo, Dad. Go get my blanket.' Crying is the only way she knows how to tell us what she wants."

"I know, but if you hadn't been here…"

"You would have figured it out eventually."

"I'm glad you think so."

"I do. Besides, it wasn't just the blankie. I don't think she wanted to be alone anymore, did you, pumpkin?" Sara asked, touching her nose to Ava's nose. She shook her head, as she said, "No, you didn't. You wanted to be in here with Mommy and Daddy, didn't you?" Ava laughed and patted Sara's cheeks. "Yes, you did." Sara turned and placed Ava down between them on the bed. Ava immediately reached over with her one blankie-free hand and tugged on Grissom's shirt. When Grissom reached over and rubbed the top of her head, Ava started babbling happily. 'See, you would have figured it out eventually."

"Maybe." Sara and Grissom watched Ava in silence, as the child tried unsuccessfully to stick both of her feet in her mouth. After about five minutes of the antics, Grissom finally broke the silence with laughter. "She doesn't give up, does she?"

"No, she doesn't."

"Well, if college doesn't work out, she could always join Cirque du Soleil."

Sara smiled at the comment, but then her countenance turned more serious. "Was it bad?" she asked Grissom quietly.

"What, the diaper?" Grissom asked, in turn. "It could have been worse."

"No, not the diaper," Sara said, reaching out and rubbing Ava's cheek with one finger. She was quiet for another moment before she clarified, "I meant Warrick."

"Oh."

"Nick told me. He didn't go into a lot of details, but he did say that, for all intents and purposes, Warrick shouldn't be here right now. Were you there? I mean did you see him…afterwards?"

"Yes. Nick got to him first, but I was right behind him."

"Was he…I mean did you think…"

"That he was going to die?" Grissom inquired. Sara nodded in response. "Yes, I did. I helped Nick get him out of the car, and then I held his head in my lap while we waited for an ambulance. I kept begging him to stay with me, but I could still feel him slipping away." Sara reached over Ava and took Grissom's hand in hers. Ava reached up and tried to grab their intertwined hands as well. "They took him to Desert Palms, and after his surgery, they moved him to a room just a few doors down from yours. I was standing there in the hallway, looking at him through the glass, and I kept thinking that I had been there before, and I had. Almost a year to the date."

"Nick said that you left a few days after that. He thought that you were coming to see me."

"To what, look you in the eye and tell you that I failed Warrick the same way I had failed you?"

"You didn't fail me, Gil. You didn't fail Warrick either."

"Didn't I? You were both in trouble. You both needed saving, but I couldn't see that until it was too late."

"Maybe it wasn't your job to save us. Maybe we had to save ourselves."

"But it was my job, Sara. I was his supervisor, and part of being supervisor is knowing what your subordinates are doing on company time. I should have known that Warrick had been taking drugs just to get through the night. I should have known that he was investigating Frank Gedda, but I didn't, not until Gedda was dead and Warrick was kneeling in a pool of Gedda's blood, but by then it was too late. "

"Frank Gedda, the mobster?"

"The one and the same."

"Why was Warrick investigating him?"

"He thought Gedda murdered this stripper that he was seeing."

"Candy Cane?"

"Yeah, her."

"Nick mentioned her. Is she the reason he was taking drugs?"

"No. I think that started before Candy."

Sara, remembering the time that she bumped into Warrick in the locker room before she left, causing him to drop a prescription bottle and complain about insomnia, asked, "Was it prescription drugs?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I, uh, saw him with a bottle of pills before I left. He said that he needed them to help him sleep. I didn't think anything of it at the time. Actually, that's not entirely true. I thought that I wouldn't mind having a bottle of those myself."

"Before I left, Nick told me that Warrick had admitted to taking both pills to help him sleep and pills to help him wake up. He'd been on a downward spiral for awhile, and I just couldn't see it."

"I'm sure he didn't want you to see it. You're not just a supervisor to him. You're his friend, his mentor, even his father in a lot of ways. He probably didn't want to worry you so he pretended like everything was okay."

"Kind of like you?"

"Yeah, kind of like me. Maybe if I had been here, I could have seen what he was doing and helped."

Grissom looked down at Ava. "You were where you needed to be."

"That's what Nick and Warrick said, but it's not true. I should have been here."

"It was May, Sara. Wasn't Ava still in the hospital?"

"Yes, but she would have never been in the hospital if I had never left."

"Maybe. Maybe not. There could have still been complications, and we wouldn't have Connor."

"We would have if I had done what I should have done and told you about him from the get-go."

"Sara--"

"I know. I know. It's water under the bridge at this point, but it's true nonetheless, just like it's true that I should have been here. You needed me. Warrick needed me, and I wasn't here for either one of you."

Ava babbled incoherently for a few moments, clapped her hands together, and then laughed. "I believe she just said, 'You were there for me, Mommy, so get over it already. Daddy and Uncle Warrick has," Grissom translated.

"Really? So you can figure all of that out but you can't tell when she wants her blankie?"

"What can I say? My gift for translating baby speak comes and goes."

"Oh, so that's what it is." Ava babbled again, causing both Sara and Grissom to look down. "Care to translate?" Sara asked, challenging Grissom.

"Sure. She said Mommy is going to have a lot to write down in that journal of hers if she doesn't stop worrying and go to sleep."

"Wow. She said all that, did she? Our daughter is quite perceptive for her age."

"And opinionated, but that's to be expected, considering…"

"Considering what?" Sara asked. Grissom raised one eyebrow in response. "Who her mother is?"

"Well, you do have a tendency to speak your mind, dear."

"Is that such a bad thing?"

"No. It's one of the things that I admire most about you."

"Even when it gets me into trouble?"

"Especially then. You know you really should try to get some sleep."

"I know. It's just not as easy as it looks."

"Maybe you need a blankie, too."

"Maybe. Are you going to let me borrow yours, pumpkin?" Sara asked Ava, giving the blanket a soft tug. Ava pulled the blanket away from Sara, babbled, and grabbed hold of Grissom's shirt again. Grissom laughed, as Sara said, "Don't bother translating. I can figure that one out on my own."

* * *

Grissom squinted against the glare that passed as mid-afternoon sun in Las Vegas. Even though his head no longer hurt, the sun wasn't doing him any favors while he waited for Connor outside the elementary school. The Vegas skyline hadn't seen any clouds, let alone rain, in weeks, and Grissom was starting to think that the drought and the sharp sting of eternal sunlight would last until Thanksgiving. There was a time in life that he would not have minded the weather, but after more than a decade on graveyard he preferred his world a little less bright.

Of course, he knew that some things couldn't be helped, especially given the turn his life had taken in the last week. He was going to have to deal with the sunlight whether he wanted to or not, just like he was going to have to deal with long lines outside the elementary school five times a week. Grissom was just about to return to his forensic journal when Connor opened the back door.

"Hey, Dad. Hey, Ava," Connor said, as he dropped his backpack into the floorboard of the car and slid into the backseat. "Where's Mom?"

Grissom glanced at Connor in the rearview mirror as he answered, "She's still asleep."

"Again?" Connor asked, buckling his seatbelt.

"Yes, again. It took her awhile to fall asleep."

"Did she have another nightmare?"

"I don't know," Grissom admitted, starting the car. "She didn't say so if she did. How do you know she has nightmares?"

"Because we used to sleep in the same room at Uncle Ritchie's. Duh."

"Right. I forgot. Did her nightmares wake you up?" Grissom asked, as he managed to find an opening in the outgoing traffic.

"Sometimes. Mom would cry in her sleep or scream 'No!,' or she'd say the bad lady's name or Michael's or Grandma's, and that would wake me up. Sometimes I'd just pretend to be asleep."

"Why did you pretend?"

"Because no one ever tells me anything," Connor responded. Ava dropped her blanket onto the seat between them and started screaming, as if in agreement.

Grissom, hearing Ava's cries but unable to determine what was wrong due to the backward placement of the car seat, asked, "What's wrong now?"

"She dropped her stupid blanket again," Connor answered.

"Can you please give it to her? I can't do it and drive."

"Yes," Connor said, dragging out the word. He picked up the blanket and handed it to his sister, who stopped crying once the fuzzy pink material was back in her hands. Connor then continued to explain about his eavesdropping habit. "The only way I can find out something is to pretend that I'm asleep and then go to the door and listen when everyone starts talking again."

"Do you hear a lot that way?"

"Uh-huh. Mom used to talk to Aunt Cam and Uncle Ritchie about her nightmare's sometimes. Aunt Cam has a degree in psychometry, you know."

"You mean psychology?"

"Psychology, that's what I said. Mom used to talk to them about a lot of things."

"Well, it's good Sara had someone to talk to."

"She didn't talk to _me_."

Grissom glanced in the rearview mirror and saw that Connor had crossed his arms again and extended his lower lip in a pout. Trying to diffuse the situation, Grissom told him, "I'm sure that's not true. I've heard Sara talk to you."

"Yeah, but not about anything interesting."

"And you think Sara's nightmares are interesting?"

"They're more interesting than talking about my homework."

"Look, Connor. I'm sure Sara didn't talk to you about her nightmares because she didn't want to worry you."

"So why doesn't she talk to me about anything else?"

"Probably because she thinks it's grownup stuff that you shouldn't hear."

"And I'm just a kid. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I think that's a stupid reason. "

"Why's that?"

"'Cause one day I'm going to be a grownup, and then what are you going to say? I shouldn't hear something because it's old people stuff?"

"Old people stuff, huh?"

"Well, if I'm grown up, that means you and Mom will be like really old, so yeah, old people stuff."

"Hmm…I doubt we'll say that."

"I don't. Besides, that's not the real reason no one tells me anything."

"It's not?"

"Nope. The real reason is everyone thinks I'm stupid."

"No one thinks that you're stupid, Connor."

"You do."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. You always look at me funny, just like Mrs. Jones used to."

"Who's Mrs. Jones?"

"My teacher last year. She used to like me until she asked me to stand up in front of the class and spell piece, and I spelled it p-e-i-c-e."

"It's actually i before e."

"Except after c, or when sounding like 'a' as in neighbor and weigh. I know. I know. Mom's told me that like a million times, but my mind went blank because everyone was staring at me. Mrs. Jones just shook her head at me, and every day after that, she'd look at me like I was stupid."

"I'm sure you were just imagining things."

"No, I wasn't, and you look at me the same way, like I'm some stupid kid who can't spell."

"Connor, I can assure you that I don't think that you're stupid."

"So why don't you ever talk to me when Mom's not around?"

"I'm talking to you now."

"Only 'cause I said something first, but at home, you're always reading or doing crossword puzzles or on the computer."

"I played a video game with you yesterday."

"Yeah, and you sucked, but you never want to do anything else with me."

"That's not true, Connor."

"Yes, it is. How come you never want to go to the park with me or play ball or go rollerblading or something?"

"I didn't know that you wanted to me to do those things with you. Do you?"

Grissom looked to the rearview mirror for an answer. He saw Connor shrug and look down at the floorboard. "I don't know. Maybe," he answered.

"I'm not so sure that rollerblading is such a good idea."

"Why? Because it's dangerous? I'd wear a helmet and pads."

"No, because I'd probably be dangerous."

"Why? 'Cause you're bigger than me? Mom's bigger than me, and she rollerblades all the time."

"No, because I have never rollerbladed before."

"Why not? It's fun. "

"I'm sure it is, but you can't teach an old dog new tricks."

"Huh? What old dog? You want me to teach Hank how to rollerblade, too?"

"No, I wasn't talking about Hank. I meant…never mind. Let's just say that I'm not as young and as coordinated as your mother and leave it at that. We could do something else though. You're just going to have to tell me what it is."

"Uncle Ritchie was teaching me how to surf."

"There aren't any oceans around here."

"I know."

"And I don't know how to do that either."

"So you can't play video games. You can't rollerblade. You can't surf. What do you know how to do?"

Grissom thought about it for a moment. What did he know how to do that an eight-year-old would like? Finally, he thought of something. "I know how to fish. My father used to take me before he died."

"I don't think Mom would like us killing fish. She's a vegetarian, remember?"

"I know, but we wouldn't have to kill them or eat them. We could throw them back."

"Yeah, but Mom would say that we were still hurting the fish 'cause of the hook. She'd say it's fish abuse."

"Yes, she'd probably would."

"Do you play any sports?"

"Not really. I wasn't much of a jock when I was your age."

"What's a jock?"

"Someone who plays a lot of sports."

"Oh. Well, if you weren't a jock, what were you?"

"A ghost mostly."

"A ghost? Don't you have to be dead to be a ghost?"

"Not that kind of ghost. I meant that I wasn't very popular."

"Why not?"

"Because I liked books and science and other things that my classmates didn't think were cool. They called me a nerd or a geek when they bothered to call me anything at all."

"You were a nerd?"

"Yes, I suppose I was. I kind of still am."

"You don't look like a nerd."

"Thank you."

"Mom says she was one, too, but I don't believe her. She didn't wear glasses in any of the pictures Uncle Ritchie showed me, and she didn't wear her pants pulled up real high like that Urkle guy on Nick at Nite, and she didn't have funny looking hair. Well, she had these weird bangs in one picture that Uncle Ritchie called doodoo curl bangs, but Aunt Cam said they were closer to mall rat bangs, whatever that means. I asked Mom about them, and she said that all the girls had them in the 80s. You should have seen them. They were huge. They were almost bigger than Mom was."

"Really?" Grissom asked, as he laughed at the mental image of Sara that had formed in his head.

"Uh-huh, but even with those weird bangs, Mom still looked pretty. She didn't look like a nerd at all. She still doesn't."

"I agree. Your mother is very beautiful."

"She doesn't think so. "

"Did she tell you that?" Grissom asked, surprised that she would admit her insecurities to their son. Then Grissom realized the answer to his own question. "Never mind, you overheard her tell someone else."

"Uh-huh. I heard her tell Aunt Cam. She said that's why you chose Heather because she's ugly and Heather's not."

"Your mom is not ugly."

"_I know," _Connor said, rolling his eyes in emphasis._ "_That's what she said, not me, and then Aunt Cam told her that she was nuts; that she was beautiful and if you couldn't see it, you were an idiot; and that you only chose Heather because you were a dog. Actually, she said all men are dogs. I didn't get it though. She said it like it was a bad thing, but I don't know why. I like dogs. Why doesn't Aunt Cam?"

"I'm sure Cameron likes dogs just fine."

"But that's not what she said."

"I know. It was a figure of speech. What she meant was that men have a tendency to do stupid, hurtful things without thinking sometimes, kind of like how dogs can run in front of cars or snap at you without thinking."

"Oh. Well, you and that Heather lady did make Mom cry."

"I know."

"Which means you were stupid and hurtful."

"Yes, I was."

"Then I guess that means Aunt Cam was right. You were a dog."

"Yes, I guess it does."

"Hmm. Are you a dog now?"

"I'm trying not to be."

"So what are you trying to be then, a cat?"

"Uh, not exactly. I'm just…trying to be myself."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's easier to be than a cat or a dog."

"Not always."

Connor was silent for a moment as he stared out the window. Then he asked Grissom, "Did Mom eat anything before she went to sleep?"

"Why do you ask?"

"'Cause Uncle Ritchie made me promise to make sure Mom starts eating more."

"Was she not eating when you were at Uncle Ritchie's?"

"She ate a little, but mostly she just pushed her food around a lot. She still does."

"So you noticed that, too?"

"Yep. I notice a lot of things. Like I said, I'm not stupid."

"I know you're not. Look, Connor. Your mom is just going through some things right now, and they're making her kind of sad, and when some people are sad, they stop eating or they don't eat as much as they used to."

"Is it 'cause the bad lady took her and stuck her under that car?"

"In part."

"That makes me sad, too."

"Me, too."

"We should make her breakfast in bed."

"It's a little late in the day for breakfast."

"Yeah, for _normal _people, but you and Mom work at night. That means you're not normal."

"It does?"

"Uh-huh. Normal people eat breakfast when they wake up, which is in the morning, but you and Mom wake up in the afternoon, so that means that when everyone else is eating lunch, you're eating breakfast, or at least you're supposed to be. That's what my teacher taught us in the first grade. Breakfast is your first meal of the day, the one you eat after you wake up. She said you don't eat while you're asleep, and that's called a fast, so when you wake up and eat, you're breaking the fast and that's why it's called breakfast."

"She's right. That is where the word breakfast comes from."

"And since you and Mom sleep in the morning, you fast during the morning, not at night, and you don't break the fast until the afternoon, which means that you don't have breakfast until the afternoon, so it would be breakfast in bed, not lunch in bed."

"You're right. Technically, it would be."

"See. I told you I wasn't stupid. Besides, just because it's called breakfast doesn't mean we have to give her breakfast food. We could make her a sandwich instead of a bowl of Cheerios."

"Yes, we could."

"She likes grilled cheese and tomato, and sometimes she makes a veggie wrap with lettuce and cucumbers and tomatoes and bell peppers and that crumbly cheese and that vegetable that's purple."

"An eggplant?"

"Yeah, that one, and she'll put these squiggly things on it that kind of look like grass. "

"Sprouts?"

"Yeah, sprouts. We could make that or a veggie BLT. She likes those, too. So do I. "

"As do I."

"Good. Then we could make all of us one, or almost all of us. We can't make Ava one. She doesn't even have teeth yet. She could choke."

"That she could."

"And we could put it on a tray with some milk or some orange juice or some water and carry it up to her and surprise her. I bet she'd like it."

"I'm sure she would."

"Then can we do it?"

"Sure."

"And then can we roller blade?"

"Connor, I already told you that I can't roller blade."

"I know, I know. You don't know how. I could teach you. I'm really good. And how do you know you can't do something if you've never tried it?"

"I just do."

"We could stop and get you knee pads."

"I don't think knee pads are going to help."

"Of course they'll help. They'll keep you from skinning your knees."

"But they won't make me any more coordinated."

"Oh. Fine, I guess we can just stay home then. That'll be fun. Another afternoon watching _Oprah_."

"You watch _Oprah_?"

"No, but I guess I'm going to have to start. That's what people do who can't go outside and play."

"You know, you and your mom can still go rollerblading."

"And what are you going to do?"

"Follow behind you with Hank and Ava."

"But that won't be any fun."

"It will be more fun than me falling and breaking my neck."

"Fine. I'll guess that'll have to do." Connor was quiet for a moment before he suggested, "You can borrow my skateboard if you want."

"That's okay."

"Let me guess. You can't skateboard either."

"No."

"Do you know how to ride a bike?"

"Yes."

"We could do that then."

"Actually, we can't. I haven't had a bike since high school."

"When was high school?"

"About 34 years ago."

"Wow, that was a really long time ago."

"Don't remind me."

"Why?"

"Because it makes me feel old."

"Well, you're supposed to be old. "

"Why is that?"

"'Cause you're my dad. It would be really weird if you were my age."

"Yes, it would."

"And confusing. People would think that you're my brother."

"Yes, I suppose they would."

"And you wouldn't be big enough to drive."

"True."

"So you wouldn't be able to pick me up from school anymore when Mom couldn't, and then what would I do?"

"I don't know."

"I'd probably have to take the bus."

"Probably."

"And Mom wouldn't like that at all."

"Why's that?"

"Because she says buses are full of germs. She says they're even worse than bowling shoes. She'd probably make me bathe in hand sanitizer the minute I got home."

Grissom laughed at the image of Sara hosing Connor down with hand sanitizer. "I don't think she'd go that far," he told Connor.

"I do. One time when I was little, Mom came to visit, and she took me to Toys R Us, and I found a piece of gum on the floor and picked it up and put it my mouth, and Mom freaked out. She took me home and made me brush my teeth and my tongue and my cheeks and my lips like 10 times, and then she made me swish with some nasty tasting mouthwash another 10 times. Michael kept telling her that I wasn't going to die from a piece of bubble gum, but she wouldn't listen. She lectured him for like an hour on all the stuff I could catch. She only stopped when Michael told her she was right and went to watch TV. I think he just said that to shut her up, but I still had to brush my teeth another 5 times after that. So see, it's not a bad thing that you're old. You're saving me from having to take a bath every afternoon."

"You take a bath every night."

"No, I take a shower. Baths are for girls."

"Oh. I didn't know that."

"Well, now you do. Plus Mom wouldn't make me just take one bath. She'd probably make me take 10, and then I'd get all wrinkly like you do when you stay in the pool for too long."

"Well, we wouldn't want that."

"Nope, because then I'd look old, and you wouldn't, and it'd just be too confusing."

"Yes, I suppose it would."

"You haven't forgotten how to ride a bike, have you?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Then will you at least think about getting one? If Mom got one, and you got one, and we could get someone to watch Ava, then all three of us could go riding together. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Sure."

"So then you'll really think about it?"

"Yes, I will."

"Good. I guess you'll just have to watch me and Mom rollerblade until then."

"I guess."

"I'm sorry you won't have any fun."

"I'll have fun watching you."

"If you say so. We should probably be quiet when we go in so we don't wake up Mom. If she wakes up, breakfast in bed won't be a surprise."

"No, it wouldn't."

"Can I cut up the vegetables?"

"I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why? Because I'm too stupid to cut up vegetables?"

"No, because you're too young to use a knife. You could cut yourself."

"You know you're starting to sound like Mom again."

"Some people would say she sounds a lot like me."

"Same difference."

* * *

"_Mom, are you okay?" Connor asked his mother from the doorway of the hotel bathroom._

_Sara, who under ordinary circumstances would have never sat on the bathroom floor of a no-tell motel without a layer of latex between her and the lingering bacteria, had nevertheless spent the better part of the morning and afternoon there, purging her digestive tract of every last morsel of food that she had managed to consume since leaving Vegas. Now that there was nothing left, she wasn't sure if she could muster the energy to get off the floor and return to the other room with her son._

"_I'm fine, baby," she answered Connor, slowing lifting her head from the toilet seat._

"_Then why are you still throwing up?"_

"_I don't know. I think I'm getting the flu or something," Sara theorized, pushing herself the rest of the way up so she could lean against the wall._

_Connor walked over to her, knelt down, and felt her forehead. "You don't feel hot," he proclaimed. "Don't you usually run a fever when you have the flu?"_

"_Not always."_

"_I do."_

_Sara reached out and gently rubbed his cheek where the bruise that Michael had inflicted was turning an ugly shade of purple. "I'm sorry. I didn't know that."_

"_It's okay. Are you sure it's not 'cause Dad hurt you?"_

_Sara, having already considered that the kick to her stomach was somehow connected to the ongoing nausea, decided against worrying him any further. "Yes, honey, I'm sure. Michael makes me sick, just not this kind of sick."_

"_Do you want me to call Uncle Ritchie? He said to call if it was an emergency."_

"_It's not an emergency. It's just a little vomit, that's all."_

"_But we could still call him."_

'_It's better that we don't. Michael could trace the call."_

"_What about Uncle Ritchie's girlfriend?"_

"_No, Michael could have someone watching her, seeing where she goes."_

"_What about my real dad?"_

"_He could have someone watching him, too, and I don't want anyone else to get hurt."_

"_Isn't my real dad a cop like you?"_

"_I'm not a cop, Connor. I'm a criminalist."_

"_But you work for the cops."_

"_That's true."_

"_Do you get to carry a gun like a cop?"_

"_Yes."_

"_So wouldn't my real dad have one, too?"_

"_He does, but he doesn't carry it very often."_

"_Why not?"_

"_I don't know. I guess because he'd rather fight crime with his mind than with a weapon. Plus, he usually has me or someone else with a gun with him."_

"_Oh. Do you think Dad would hurt him?"_

"_Maybe, if he thought Gil knew where we are."_

"_I could call 911 then."_

"_I'm not that sick, Connor. Seriously, I'll be fine. I just need to lie down for awhile." Sara tried to stand up but sank back down to the floor when the room started spinning. "I think I'm going to need a little help," she admitted to her son._

_Connor moved to Sara's side and squatted down so she could wrap her arm around his shoulders. "I've got you," he said, as they both straightened up. He then lead Sara into the other room and helped her lay down on the bed. "Do you want me to get you something to drink? Dad always gives me Sprite when I'm sick."_

"_I don't think your Uncle Ritchie brought any with the groceries."_

"_He didn't, but I can go get you one from the drink machine."_

"_I don't know that I like the idea of you going to the drink machine alone."_

"_It's right down the hall. It won't take me but a minute."_

"_I know, but a minute is all it takes for someone to take you."_

"_So I'll prop the door open with a chair so you can hear me, and I'll scream bloody murder if someone comes near me."_

"_Bloody murder, huh?"_

_Connor nodded. "Yep, I can scream really, really loud. Wanna hear?"_

"_No, I'll take your word for it."_

"_And I need to get you some more ice for your eye. It's still all swollen. The ice machine's right by the drink machine."_

_Sara reached out and held Connor's hand for a minute. "You know, I should be the one taking care of you."_

"_That's okay. You can take care of me later. So can I go?" Connor asked, as he raised one eyebrow, a mannerism that reminded Sara of how much Connor was like his father._

"_Yes, but…"_

"_But what?"_

"_But I want you to prop open the door, and I want you to take my purse with you."_

"_You want me to carry a purse?" _

"_Yes, my taser gun is in there. If anyone tries to take you, I want you to shoot them with it."_

"_Cool."_

"_No, not cool. I don't want you to touch it unless someone is trying to take you or touch you or looks at you funny. Do you understand?"_

"_Yes, but can't I just take it out of your purse and carry it?"_

"_No. You might shoot yourself accidentally."_

"_But, Mom…"_

"_It's that or nothing, Connor."_

"_Fine, I'll carry your stupid purse," Connor said, sighing. He then pushed a chair over to the hotel room door, opened the door, and pushed the chair against it. Shaking his head, he walked back over to the dresser, picked up Sara's purse, and put it over his shoulder. "I look stupid," he proclaimed._

"_No, you don't. You look cute," Sara joked._

"_Cute like a girl."_

"_Come here, and let me get you some change." Connor obeyed and walked over to Sara. She rummaged around in the bag until she found enough change for two drinks. "Get you one, too."_

"_Can I get a grape Fanta instead?"_

"_Sure. Get whatever you want."_

"_Okay." Connor took the change, stuck it in his pocket, and grabbed the ice bucket on the way out the door. _

_Sara, watching him leave the room, had to fight the urge to go after him. She knew that, as weak as she was, she would be more likely to fall down than to catch up with him, but this knowledge did little to dispel the fear that she was going to lose her son again. Holding her breath, she silently counted the seconds until he returned._

"_I'm back!" Connor exclaimed, a few minutes later, a full bucket of ice in hand._

_Sara exhaled and responded, "I see."_

"_No one was even in the hallway."_

"_That's good." Connor put the ice bucket on the dresser and then returned to the door, pulled the chair out of the doorway, and let the door slam shut. Sara involuntarily jumped at the sound. "Could you please lock that for me?" she asked._

"_Uh-huh," Connor answered, as he turned the double bolt and subsequently stood on his tiptoes to thread the chain into the top lock. He then walked over to Sara. "Here's your purse and your drink," he said, handing her both._

"_Thank you, baby," she said, slowly sitting up so she could open the soda._

"_I'm not a baby anymore. I'm eight."_

"_I know, but you'll always be my baby."_

"_That's stupid."_

"_Maybe, but it's true. You'll be my baby even when you get married and have your own baby."_

"_I'm never getting married. Girls are gross."_

"_You won't always think that. What about that girl that's always on TV, Anna Colorado?"_

"_Who's Anna Colorado?"_

"_That girl that sings on the Disney Channel. I think she pretends to be a rock star or something."_

"_You mean Hannah Montana?"_

"_Yeah, her."_

"_Ooh, Mom. I don't like her. She's stupid."_

"_I think she's cute."_

"_Then you're the only one. Yuck."_

"_Do you think I'm yucky?"_

"_No."_

"_But I'm a girl."_

"_No, you're not."_

"_I'm not?"_

"_Nope. You're my mom." Connor climbed on the bed and sat next to Sara as he drank his Fanta. "Is Uncle Ritchie coming back soon?" he asked her._

"_I hope so," she responded._

"_When he does, will we finally get to go home?"_

"_Hopefully."_

"_Do you think Dad's going to hurt him?"_

"_No."_

"_Why not? He hurt us."_

"_That's true, but your Uncle Ritchie's a pretty strong guy. I think he can handle himself."_

"_But what if Dad won't do what Uncle Ritchie wants? Will I have to go back there?"_

"_No."_

"_But what if Dad calls the police? You kind of kidnapped me."_

"_Yes, I kind of did."_

"_So you can be arrested for that."_

"_The cops have to find me first."_

"_But what if they do? Will I have to go to foster care like you and Uncle Ritchie?"_

"_How do you know we were in foster care?"_

"'_Cause Dad told me."_

"_Why did he tell you that?"_

"'_Cause I wanted to know why you didn't love me anymore. He said that you didn't know how to love anyone 'cause you had to grow up in foster care."_

"_Honey, that's not true. I do love you."_

"_I know," Connor mumbled, looking down at the comforter.._

_Sara put her drink on the nightstand and then turned to Connor. Turning his face towards her, she asked, "Do you?"_

"_Yes," Connor whispered, "but I didn't then."_

_Sara bit her lip to keep from crying. She took the soda from Connor's hands and placed it next to her own. She then pulled Connor into a hug. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I love you, Connor. I always have, and I always will."_

"_I know. I love you, too." The two were silent for a moment, before Connor repeated his question. "If you get arrested, will I have to go to foster care?"_

"_No."_

"_Will I have to go back to Dad's?"_

"_No."_

"_Why not?"_

"_Because I took some hair from Gil's hairbrush before I left."_

"_How is that going to help?"_

"_Well, when your Uncle Ritchie gets back, I'm going to give it to him, and we're going to take a swab of your cheek, and then he's going to take it to a lab and have it tested."_

"_Tested for what?"_

"_You remember how I was telling you about DNA?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_Well, the test will prove that you have Gil's DNA, not Michael's. Then we're going to show it to a judge and get Michael's name taken off your birth certificate."_

"_Will my last name still be Barrett?"_

"_Not if you don't want it to be."_

"_I want it to be the same as yours."_

"_You want to be Connor Grissom?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_Okay. Then Connor Grissom it is."_

"_But what if you get arrested? Will I still get to change my name?"_

"_Yes."_

"_But you won't be able to do it."_

"_Then I'll make sure your Uncle Ritchie does it for me."_

"_Will I have to live with him or with my real dad?"_

"_Who do you want to live with?"_

"_I want to live with you."_

"_Well, then I guess I'm just going to have to not get arrested."_

"Mom!"

"I want you to live with me, too," Sara muttered in her sleep.

"What?" Connor asked, looking puzzled. "I'm already living with you." He looked over at Grissom, who merely shrugged at Sara's mumblings. Connor turned back to Sara, sat Ava down between them on the bed, and shook Sara in an attempt to wake her up. "Mom, wake up! Mom!"

Sara slowly opened her eyes and realized that Connor and Ava were sitting next to her on the bed. She moaned and said, "I'm awake."

"It's about time. I've said your name like a million times."

"A million, huh?" Sara asked, rolling onto her back and sitting up.

"Uh-huh. Just ask Dad."

Sara looked to her left, where Grissom was standing with the tray of food. "It was more like a hundred," he admitted.

"A hundred. A million. It was still a lot," Connor explained. He pointed at the tray. "Look. We made you breakfast."

"What time is it?" Sara inquired, wondering just how long she had slept for them to be bringing her breakfast.

"Almost four," Grissom answered.

"It's a little late in the day for breakfast, isn't it?" she asked them both.

Connor, frustrated by his parents' inability to understand that meaning of the word breakfast, shook his head and looked at Grissom. "Dad, can you please just explain it to her. I don't have the energy." He then leaned back on the pillow and crossed his arms.

Sara looked from Connor to Grissom before asking, "Why doesn't he have the energy?"

"It's a long story," Grissom told her. "Just agree with him that it's breakfast. It's easier. Trust me."

"Okay then. It's breakfast," Sara stated, agreeing with her son. She took the tray from Grissom and studied the meal that they had prepared. "It looks good."

"I made it," Connor bragged.

Sara looked over at him and asked, "You did?"

"Uh-huh. Well, I put it together anyway. I wanted to cut up the vegetables, but Dad wouldn't let me. He's scared I'll cut my fingers off. Like I'd be that stupid," Connor declared, rolling in his eyes in emphasis.

"Honey, you don't have to be stupid to cut off your fingers. The knife just has to slip," Sara explained, as she placed the glass of milk on the nightstand.

"Still, I could have done it just fine."

"I'm sure you could have, but what do you say we wait a few years to find out?"

Connor sighed, as he realized that he wasn't going to win the argument. "Fine. Whatever, but you're not allowed to leave this room until you make a happy plate."

"I'm not?"

"Nope. Uncle Ritchie made me promise to fatten you up."

"Really?" Sara asked, the sandwich halfway to her mouth. "My brother told you to make me fat?"

"No, he told me to make you eat. He said that you've gotten so skinny that you'd snap in two if you sneezed too hard."

Sara put the sandwich back down, surprised by her brother's opinion of her physique. "Wow, okay," she commented, not knowing what else to say in response to the assessment.

Connor decided to inform her that Ritchie wasn't the only person concerned about her weight. "And Aunt Cam said that if it wasn't for your boobs, you'd disappear when you turned sideways."

"Uh, all right."

"And when you went to the bathroom at work, Nick said that he was glad to see you eating a cookie and that he wants me to make sure that you eat more of them, but we're out of cookies, so I had to get you Cheetos instead."

"Okay. I'm glad to know that everyone is talking about my weight behind my back."

Grissom sat down at the foot of the bed and said, "I'm sure they meant well, Sara."

"Uh-huh," Sara mumbled.

"Everyone just wants you to feel better, Mom. So do I. That's why you can't leave until you eat everything on your plate and drink your milk. It's good for your bones, you know."

"I know."

"And just in case you want to stay in here, you should know that you also don't get a hug until you make a happy plate."

"I don't?"

"Nope," Connor stated, shaking his head. "Not from me. Not from Dad. Not from Ava. Not even from Hank."

"I didn't know that Hank could give hugs."

"Of course he can. All he has to do is stand up on his hind legs and put his feet on your shoulders. That's how he hugs."

"Well, I wouldn't want to miss out on that. I guess I'm going to have to eat then." Sara took a bite of the sandwich and chewed it. After swallowing, she turned to Connor and said, "Thank you, baby. It's good."

"Well, duh. It's good because I made it."

Sara took another bite and asked, "So how was school?"

"Fine," Connor answered, pulling Ava back as she tried to grab a Cheeto off of Sara's plate. "Katy Parker threw up during social studies. It was so gross."

"Uh, Connor, your mother is trying to eat," Grissom scolded.

"I know, but she's used to dead, decaying bodies. I don't think me talking about puke is going to bother her."

"He's right, Gil. It's not," Sara agreed. She picked up a Cheeto and put it in her mouth. "So is Katy okay?"

"I guess. Mrs. Malcolm sent her to see the school nurse, and then before she could clean it up, Annie and Maya threw up, too. Then some other kids started making gagging noises, and Mrs. Malcolm got real pale, and then she put her hand over her mouth and ran out the door. "

"She left you all alone?" Grissom asked.

"Only for a few minutes," Connor responded. "Then she came back with the janitor. She made him clean it up."

"Did you get sick?" Sara inquired.

"Nuh-uh. I've got a stomach of steel."

"Oh, really?"

"Yep. Nothing grosses me out."

"I'll remember that next time Ava has a really bad diaper. I'll let you change her."

"Wait. I forgot. Poop makes me sick."

"Sorry. Too late. You're on diaper duty until you go to college."

"Great. Can I have a Cheeto then? I'm going to need my energy to change all those diapers. Ava poops all the time." Sara laughed and handed Connor the plate. He picked up a Cheeto and made a dramatic show of eating it.

"Do you feel energized now?" Sara asked.

"Just enough to do my homework, but not enough to change a diaper."

"You can have another one."

"No, that's okay," Connor said, pushing the plate away. "I need to do my homework anyway so we can go rollerblading later."

"We're going rollerblading?"

"We are. Dad's not. He's just going to push Ava in the stroller behind us. He's too chicken to let me teach him how."

"I'm not chicken. I'm just not coordinated," Grissom differentiated.

"Yeah, right. He's chicken, Mom. Bop, bop, bop," Connor said, as he used his arms to stimulate chicken wings. When Sara laughed at his antics, Connor jumped up and continued the arm flapping to the doorway. He then told Grissom, "Make sure she doesn't cheat and give her food to Hank."

"Will do," Grissom responded. While Connor continued to make chicken noises down the hallway, Grissom got up from the foot of the bed, walked around to the other side, and sat down next to Ava.

Sara looked over at him and smiled. "Rollerblading, huh?"

"He doesn't seem to get that I'm too old to rollerblade."

"I wouldn't say that," Sara said, before taking another bite of her sandwich.

"I would. I'm not so sure my knees could handle it. He wanted me to go surfing, too, but thankfully for my knees and various other body parts, Las Vegas is landlocked."

"I'm sorry. He likes to be outside."

"No need to apologize. I feel like I should be the one apologizing, especially considering the talk we had in the car."

"I'm almost scared to ask about what."

"About us."

"About you and me?"

"No, about me and him. Our son seems to think that I think that he's stupid."

"Don't feel too bad. He thinks that I think the same thing. I think it's a phase or something."

"He said that's why we don't tell him anything."

"He told me the same thing the other night. Then he admitted that he had been eavesdropping on my conversations for quite awhile now." Sara pushed around the food on her plate, as she admitted, "All this time, I've been thinking that I was protecting Connor from certain things--from what happened between you and Heather, from what my mother did, from my emotional problems--but I wasn't."

"Sara, you couldn't have possibly known that Connor had his ear to the door this entire time."

"Yes, I could have. If I had been a better mother, if I had been more involved in his life the last eight years, I would have known that he was only pretending to be asleep."

"Sara--"

"I know. I'm going to have to add that to my thought journal, but it's how I feel. As a mother, it's my job to protect my children from harm, and right now I feel like I'm doing a really lousy job. He's not even nine, Gil. He shouldn't have to worry about whether his mother is eating enough or if his father has a girlfriend or whether a serial killer is going to knock on his front door at any moment."

"In a perfect world, no, he shouldn't, but we don't live in a perfect world, Sara. We live in a world where people just do the best they can."

"I said something very similar to that to Dr. Young today."

"See. Great minds think alike."

"I'm not feeling so great right now."

"I know, and I'm sorry."

"I am trying."

"I know you are. Here. Maybe this will help," Grissom said, before leaning over and kissing Sara.

Sara, surprised by the kiss, pulled back. "I thought I couldn't get a hug until I made a happy plate."

"Well, technically, that wasn't a hug. It was a kiss."

"True, but I'm not sure James Bond, Jr. down the hall will approve."

"Right. I forgot. Kissing is gross," Grissom said, mimicking Connor's proclamation from the other night.

"Well, it's a good thing that I'm used to dead, decaying bodies. I kind of like gross," Sara said. She then leaned over and kissed him back.


	86. Chapter 86

**A/N: Sorry about the delay, but I have posted two chapters at once this time, this one and Chapter 87. Hopefully, that will make up for it.**

* * *

"_Morning," Sara greeted her brother, when he finally opened his eyes._

"_Morning," Ritchie replied in turn. "How long have you been awake?"_

"_Awhile. How long have you been sitting there?" Sara asked, nodding at the chair that Ritchie currently occupied._

"_Awhile," Ritchie admitted, as he stretched his back and arms._

"_Don't tell me that you spent the night in that chair." _

"_I didn't spend the night in this chair," Ritchie answered, a sheepish grin on his face. Sara cleared her throat, causing Ritchie to put forth one more denial. "What? I didn't."_

_Sara raised her eyebrows in response. "Right… So why do you have the same look on your face that you had when Mom busted you for the pot that I found under your bed?"_

"_I still have no idea how that got under there."_

"_Uh-huh" _

"_Okay, you got me. I slept in the chair. I wasn't going to leave you alone, Sara."_

"_How did you get the nurses to let you stay past visiting hours?"_

"_A well placed bribe or two."_

"_Ritchie," Sara scolded._

"_Okay, so I might have flashed my badge here and there. The thing does come in handy from time to time."_

"_You didn't have to do that."_

"_Yes, I did." Richard took his sister's hand in his and asked, "How are you feeling?"_

"_Better. I think that the contractions have finally stopped."_

"_That's good."_

"_How's Connor?"_

"_He's scared, understandably so. This is the second time in two months that he's seen you taken away in an ambulance."_

"_Where is he?_

"_At home with Cam. She's going to be bringing him by later."_

"_I don't want him to see me like this, hooked up to all these tubes and monitors. It will scare him."_

"_I think it will scare him more not to see you."_

_Sara shrugged and stared past Ritchie at the fetal heart monitor. "I suppose you're right," she stated, as she felt the tears fall down her face._

_Ritchie, noticing the tears, stood up in concern. "Hey, are you having contractions again? Do you want me to get a doctor?" he asked his sister._

"_No, no, I'm fine," Sara responded. "Sit down."_

_Ritchie reluctantly lowered himself into the chair. "Then what's with the tears?" he inquired._

"_It's nothing," Sara answered, wiping at the tear. "It's just hormones."_

_This time it was Ritchie's turn to scold his sibling for an evasive answer. "Sara," he started._

"_I'm just thinking, that's all."_

"_About?"_

"_About how I got here," she admitted, as she picked at the uneven plastic edge of her hospital bracelet. "I asked Dr. Montgomery if a kick to the stomach could have been what caused the placenta to tear."_

"_What did she say?"_

"_That it's very likely," Sara responded, looking past her brother again. "I told you that Michael could have hurt her."_

_Ritchie leaned over so that Sara was looking at him again. "And I told you that this kid is a survivor." Ritchie then turned around in the chair and pointed at the fetal monitor. "Just look, Sara. Her heart is beating strong. That's all that matters now."_

_Sara looked at the monitor as well. "I suppose," she stated. "Dr. Montgomery also said that if I get to go home--"_

"_When you get to go home--" Ritchie corrected, turning back towards the hospital bed._

"_When I get to go home, I'll have to be on bed rest until I go into labor."_

"_So?"_

"_So that's not exactly what you bargained for when you offered me your guest room a few months ago."_

"_Again I say, 'So?'"_

"_So I don't want to be a burden to you."_

"_You're not a burden, Sara. You're my sister."_

"_But I'm not Cameron's sister, and she lives there, too. Is she really prepared for all of this? I'm not going to be able to take Connor to school or shop for groceries or help with dinner. Hell, at this point, I don't even know if I'm going to be able to go to the bathroom or shower without help. I'd completely understand if she doesn't want any part of it."_

"_Sara, Cam's not who you think she is."_

"_I know, okay? I'm not attacking her. I'm just saying that the next few months are going to be tough, and I don't want to be the reason for any strife between the two of you."_

"_You're not going to be."_

"_You don't know that, and the only way that I can guarantee that I won't be is if I leave."_

"_And where are you going to go, back to Vegas?"_

"_Maybe."_

"_And how are you going to get there if you're on bed rest?"_

"_I thought maybe you could drive me."_

"_Nuh-uh. No way I'm going to drive you back to that two-timing asshole you call a husband."_

"_Ritchie," Sara said, trying to sit up further._

_Ritchie stood up and helped her the rest of the way. As he then adjusted the pillows behind her, he continued, "Don't Ritchie me, Sara. You were barely gone a month, and the man had already moved a hooker into your bed."_

"_Heather's not a hooker, Ritchie. She's a dominatrix."_

"_Sara, she gets paid to give people sexual pleasure. Just because she uses a whip instead of her body doesn't make her any less of a hooker. I am not--I repeat, am not--letting you go back to that, especially not in your current condition. Do you want to lose this baby?"_

_Sara sighed. "No," she answered._

"_Then you're staying with me and Cam. End of discussion."_

_Both Richard and Sara stopped talking when they heard a knock on the hospital room door and turned towards it. Cammie stuck her head in the room and asked, "We're not interrupting are we?"_

"_No, come in," Sara told her._

_Cammie pushed the door the rest of the way open, allowing Connor to walk in ahead of her. She then shut the door behind her and took a white paper bag out of her purse. Handing it to Sara, she said, "We snuck you in some breakfast. I figured that you probably didn't want to eat the slop that passes for hospital food around here."_

_Sara grimaced at the thought of hospital breakfast. "I'd rather not," she admitted. She opened the bag and smelled its contents. "Thanks."_

"_You're welcome." Cammie looked down at Connor and put a hand on his shoulder. "Connor, don't you want to say something to your mom?" she asked the boy._

"_Hi, Mom," he said meekly._

"_Hi, baby," Sara replied, smiling at him._

_Ritchie, noticing that his nephew made no further effort to reach out to his sister, stood up. "You know, I'm suddenly feeling the need for some caffeine. I think I'm going to run down to the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee. Cam, do you want to join me?"_

"_I'd love to," Cameron said, picking up on the tension between mother and son._

_Ritchie walked around the bed and stood in front of Connor. "Hey, Connor, can you do me a huge favor while I'm downstairs?" he asked his nephew._

_Connor shrugged, as he responded, "I guess. What do you want me to do?"_

"_I want you to sit with your mom for me until I come back. Can you do that?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_Thanks, kiddo. I owe you big time."_

_After Cameron and Richard left, Sara watched her son for a few minutes as he traced invisible circles on the linoleum floor with his tennis shoe. She then asked him, "Are you going to stand in the doorway all day?"_

"_I don't know," Connor mumbled, as he continued to stare at the floor._

"_Why don't you come over here and give me a hug instead?"_

"_I can't," Connor said, as he finally looked up at his mother. "Cammie said that I had to be careful 'cause of the baby."_

"_You do, but it's okay. I'm not going to break. Come here."_

_Connor slowly walked over to the hospital bed. Sara tried not to wince as she slid over, giving Connor room to sit next to her. Connor then climbed onto the bed and put his arms around Sara's neck. His voice muffled by her shoulders, he told Sara, "I'm sorry."_

"_What for?" Sara asked, as she hugged him back._

"_For you being in the hospital. It's all my fault."_

_Sara pulled away from Connor so that she could look him in the face. "Why would you think that?"_

_Connor picked at a loose thread on the blanket as he answered her. " 'Cause you were fine until we went to the park, and you wouldn't have gone to the park if it wasn't for me."_

"_Connor, this is not your fault."_

"_Yes, it is."_

"_No, it's not. Look at me," Sara directed her son. Rather than look at Sara, Connor turned his head and stared at the chair that his uncle had vacated. "Connor Gilbert Grissom," Sara said more sternly. Connor sighed and turned back around to face Sara. "This is not your fault."_

"_You don't know that."_

"_Yes, I do, and I can prove it. I want you to hand me that picture next to the phone." Connor got up and retrieved the picture from the side table. He then handed it to Sara and sat back next to her. "Do you know what this is?" Sara asked. Connor shook his head in response. "It's a sonogram picture."_

"_What's a sonogram?" _

"_It's this machine that the doctor uses to see the baby and take pictures of it."_

"_It lets her see in your tummy?" Connor asked, amazed by the concept._

"_Yes."_

"_Can she see the waffles that you ate for breakfast yesterday, too?"_

_Sara, despite the pain that she was in, managed to laugh at Connor's question. "Not exactly. I know that I told you that the baby was in my stomach, but it's not really. It's in my uterus."_

"_What's a uterus?"_

"_It's a, um, an organ that's below my stomach."_

"_Do I have one?" Connor asked, pulling up his shirt and looking down at his own stomach._

"_No, honey. Only women have them."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because only women can have babies."_

"_But men have stomachs, too."_

"_Yes, they do."_

"_So why can't they a have a baby inside their stomachs?"_

"_Uh, for a lot of reasons, but mostly because the stomach acids would probably eat the baby the way it eats your food."_

"_So why do people always say that the baby's in your stomach then?"_

"_I guess because it's easier. The word 'uterus' makes some people squirm."_

"_Well, that's stupid. It's just a word."_

"_Yes, it is." Connor leaned against Sara as she pointed at something in the sonogram. "Do you see that long thing right there?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_Well, that's the baby's umbilical cord. It runs all the way from the baby's belly button right here," Sara said, pointing at where the naval should be in the grainy photo, "to the placenta over here." Sara's finger traced the image of the umbilical cord until it ended up at the placenta._

"_Does it do something?"_

"_Yes. It carries the blood from the placenta to the baby so that the baby can grow, and then when the baby has gotten all the oxygen and nutrients that it can from the blood, it carries it back to the placenta."_

"_Did I have one?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Why don't I have one now? Did you have it removed?"_

_Sara laughed again. "Sort of. When you were born, you still had your umbilical cord attached to your belly button so the doctor let Michael cut it, and then the doctor tied the end off, and a few weeks later what was left of the cord dried up and fell off your belly button."_

"_Ooh, gross."_

"_Yes, it was rather gross. Now see over here, where I said the placenta was, there's a tiny little tear where the placenta is separating from my uterus."_

"_Is it supposed to do that?"_

"_Not until I give birth, but that little tear is why my stomach was hurting yesterday and why I started bleeding. It wasn't because I went to the park with you."_

"_Can't the doctor just stick it back on?"_

"_No, unfortunately she can't."_

"_So what is she going to do then?"_

"_Well, right now she's giving me fluids. That's what this tube is for," Sara said, lifting the hand that had the IV in it. "And when I go home, I'm going to have to take some medicine that makes the baby's lungs stronger."_

"_When are you going home?"_

"_I don't know yet. Soon, I hope."_

"_Are we going to go to my real dad's then?"_

"_Uh, see, Connor, that's the thing. The doctor said when I go home, I'll have to stay on bed rest until the baby's born."_

"_What's 'bed rest' mean?"_

"_It means that I have to stay in bed all day long, and I can only get up to go the bathroom or to take a shower."_

"_That sucks."_

"_Yeah, it kind of does. Unfortunately, that means that we won't be able to go to Vegas and see your father. We'll have to stay at your Uncle Ritchie's for a little while longer."_

"_Can't he come and see us?"_

"_Maybe. We'll have to see."_

"_If you have to stay in bed, that means you won't be able to come to my soccer games anymore."_

"_I know. I'm sorry, baby. I know that I promised you that I would come."_

_Connor shrugged. "It's okay. I don't really like soccer anyway."_

"_Yes, you do. How about this? How about I have Ritchie or Cameron go to the games and record them for me, and we'll watch them together when you get home."_

"_I guess that will be okay," Connor mumbled. "I just wish you could come instead."_

"_I know. I swear, as soon as your sister is born, I won't miss another one."_

"_My sister?"_

"_Yes, your sister. The baby is a girl."_

"_How do you know?"_

"_Because the doctor told me. I know that you probably wanted a little brother to play with, and you think that girls are stupid…"_

"_Not all girls," Connor interrupted. He took the picture from Sara's hand and looked at it again. "It's okay. I don't mind. Besides, she won't really be a girl. She'll be my sister."_

"_Is there a difference?"_

"_Uh-huh." He looked up at Sara and asked, "If we have to share a room when she gets bigger, you're not going to make me paint it pink, are you?"_

"Why do you have that funny look on your face?" Connor asked Sara from the bottom bunk of his bed.

"I have a funny look?" Sara asked in turn.

"Uh-huh. You look like this," Connor responded, scrunching up his face.

"I look like that?"

"Uh-huh. Do you have headache? That's what Uncle Ritchie looks like when he has a headache."

"No. I was just thinking about painting your room pink."

"Ooh, Mom. You know I hate pink. It's a girl's color."

"Not necessarily. I know a lot of men who wear pink shirts or ties."

"Well then they're stupid. Do they wear pink bows in their hair, too?"

"No, they don't. Besides, pink is just a lighter shade of red, and that's your favorite color."

"Then maybe I need a new favorite color."

Sara sat down next to Connor on the bottom bunk and looked over at his open textbook. "Are you done with your homework?"

"Almost. Are we still going rollerblading?"

"Not today."

"Why not? Dad said we could go."

"Because I just got called into work. Do you remember Jim Brass, the guy that was here the other day when your father came home?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, he just called and said that he's bringing in several suspects in this case that we were working on last week and asked me if I wanted to be there when he questions them."

"Couldn't you have said no?" Connor asked, as he silently wished that Sara still could.

"Technically, yes, but I want to be there because the victim was a little girl not much older than you."

"Oh," Connor said, thinking about Sara's answer. "I guess that's okay then."

"I should be back in time for dinner."

"Okay. If you get back earlier than that, can we still go rollerblading?"

"Sure, if I get back in time. If not, we'll go tomorrow."

"When are you leaving?"

"Just as soon as Nick gets here to pick me up. Your dad left his car at the lab so I'm going to leave him mine in case you need to go somewhere."

"What am I supposed to do until you get back?"

"You could spend some time with your father."

"Doing what?" Connor asked skeptically. "He sucks at the Playstation. He can't skateboard. He can't rollerblade. He doesn't have a bike. He can't do anything fun."

"You could get him to show you his bug collection. He's probably not too happy that I shoved them all in the closet. I'm sure he'd love to take them out and show them to you."

Connor sighed dramatically. "Fine, I'll ask him about his stupid bugs, but he'll probably just tell me that he doesn't know how to do that either."

"I doubt it. If there's one thing that your father knows how to do, it's talk about bugs."

"If you say so. You're not really going to paint my room pink, are you?"

"No."

"Good because I might have to move back in with Uncle Ritchie if you do."

* * *

"Are all the girls here?" Nick asked Brass and Sofia, who were waiting for him and Sara in the observation room.

"Yes, as are their parents," Sofia answered.

The four were silent for a moment, as they watched the five girls and their parents through the one-way mirror. Finally, Sara broke the silence. "The DNA that Wendy extracted from the hair that Dave found in Mary Sullivan's hand matched Claire Robert's DNA. Which one is she?"

Brass answered, "The one holding court at the end of the table."

Nick's gaze moved to the brunette girl sitting at the far end of the table, her arms crossed and her head held high, as one of the other girls whispered in her ear. "I can't wait to hear what she has to say."

"Me either," Brass mumbled in agreement.

"I can," Sara said, causing her three colleagues to look at her in surprise. Sara pointed at the redhead sitting in the corner of the room, away from Claire and her court of 12 year old girls. " I want to talk to that one."

Brass looked at his notes. "That's Elizabeth Thompson, Mary Sullivan's next door neighbor."

"Look at her. The only time that she looks at Claire and the other girls is to glare at them. They might have been friends a week ago, but I'm willing to bet that they aren't any longer. If we get her away from the others, she may be more inclined to talk."

"Hmm," Brass mutter, as he considered the possibility. "Divide and conquer. It's not such a bad idea."

"Even if Elizabeth doesn't talk, the others are bound to wonder why she isn't in there with them. If they think that she's telling all or has cut some kind of a deal, they might be more inclined to offer up their own version of events," Sofia stated, as she pointed out another benefit of dividing the girls.

Brass nodded slightly. "Okay. Let's try it."

* * *

Brass held open the door to Interrogation Room 2 for Elizabeth Thompson and her other mother Christine. "Please take a seat," he told them, as he gestured at the table. Once the Thompsons had sat down, Brass took his own seat next to Sara. "Mrs. Thompson, Elizabeth, I'm Captain Jim Brass. This is Sara Grissom with the crime lab. I want to thank you for taking the time to come down here this afternoon."

"Captain Brass, I mean no disrespect, but I just don't understand why we had to. My daughter and Mary have been inseparable since we moved next door to Mary's family when Lizzy was two." Christine Thompson looked over at her daughter and asked, "Isn't that right, Lizzy?"

"Yes," Elizabeth whispered, as she stared intently at the interrogation room table.

Mrs. Thompson looked back at Brass. "See. There must be some mistake. There's no way Lizzy is involved in Mary's death."

"There is no mistake, Mrs. Thompson.," Sara stated, as she laid a copy of Mandy's fingerprint analysis in front of Mrs. Thompson. "As you can see from this document, we found your daughter's prints on the sewer cover, along with Claire Robert's, Abigail Morgan's, Sally Horton's, and Erin Miller's prints."

Mrs. Thompson pushed the report back to Sara's side of the table. "Well, I'm sure there's some logical explanation for that. My daughter did not--I repeat did not--murder her best friend." She looked over at her daughter again and prodded, "Tell them, Lizzy. Tell them that you had nothing to do with what happened to Mary."

"It was just supposed to be a joke," Elizabeth said quietly.

"What was, Lizzy?" Mrs. Thompson questioned.

Elizabeth finally looked up and turned to her mother. "The slumber party. The sewer. Mary. It was all just supposed to be a joke," she clarified.

"You think killing a classmate is funny?" Sara asked the girl, failing to find any humor in the situation.

Elizabeth turned from her mother to Sara. "No, I don't. Mary wasn't supposed to die. Claire just wanted to scare her."

Mrs. Thompson threw up her hands at the mention of the latter girl's name. "Claire!" she exclaimed. "Well, that explains it right there. That child's a bad seed, I tell you. She's always causing trouble, just like her mother. Do you remember that old show _Harper Valley PTA_?"

"Vaguely," Brass replied. "Barbara Eden was in it, right?"

"Right. Then you probably remember the theme song, too, the one that went 'Mrs. Johnson, you're wearing your dresses way too high. It's reported you've been drinking and a runnin' round with men and going wild.' Well, that describes Melinda Roberts to a tee."

Sara shook her head at the woman's attempt to sidetrack the conversation. "That's, uh, that's nice, Mrs. Thompson, but we're not here about Mrs. Roberts. We're here about Mary Sullivan. Elizabeth, do you want to tell us what happened to Mary?"

As Elizabeth played with the ring on her thumb, she began to tell them about what had happened to Mary. "It, um, all started about a week before the party. Someone had posted this story about Carmen Winstead on Claire's MySpace page, and Claire thought we should use it to scare Mary."

"Why would Claire want to scare Mary?" Brass asked.

"Because she was unpopular and Claire wasn't. Claire used to call her a fugly bitch whenever she'd walk by her in the hallway."

"Lizzy!" Mrs. Thompson exclaimed, as she crossed her arms and looked at her daughter.

"I'm sorry, Mom, but that's what she called her. Claire was always making fun of Mary. She didn't like Mary's clothes, her hair, her glasses, or anything else about her. The only time that she was ever nice to Mary was if she forgot to do her homework and needed to copy Mary's."

"If you and Mary were such great friends, why didn't you ever stand up to Claire?" Sara inquired.

"And what, end up just as unpopular as Mary? No way."

"So popularity overrules friendship?" Sara asked, growing increasingly annoyed with the girl's attitude.

"Well, duh. Besides, Mary said that she understood. She said if she was every lucky enough to be popular, she'd probably do the same thing to me."

Brass noticed out of the corner of his eye that Sara was shaking her head at the answer. He took that as his cue to ask the follow up question of Elizabeth. "If Claire hated Mary so much, how did she end up at Claire's party?"

"Like I said, Claire saw the thing about Carmen on MySpace. She sent it Mary and then told me to tell Mary not to bother reposting it because it was just one of those stupid internet urban legends."

"Did you?"

"Yes."

"And Mary listened to you?"

Elizabeth shrugged "I guess so because she never reposted it. Then the next day at school Claire started acting uber-nice to Mary. She told Mary that she liked her dress and her hair. She asked her to sit at our table at lunch. She picked her to be on our dodge ball team at P.E. She even asked Mary to help her with her homework."

"Did the rest of you act nice to Mary, too?" Sara questioned.

"Yeah. Claire, um, told us that we had to."

"Do you do everything Claire says?"

"Pretty much," Elizabeth admitted. Sara shook her head again.

Brass continued, "Did Claire every stop being nice?"

"Yeah, at the party. We, um, watched a couple of horror movies, and then Claire started talking about how it's the ugly chic who always get killed first. She told Mary that she was pretty much screwed then since she was so fugly and all. She kept going on and on about how ugly she thought Mary was, about how no one liked her, and about how Carmen was going to get her because she didn't repost the story. She didn't stop until Mary started crying."

"Was that when Mary left the party?"

"No. Claire told her that we'd protect her from Carmen, but she would have to do something for us first as a, um--what's it called--a step, no, a leap of…a leap of something."

"A leap of faith?" Sara interjected.

"Yeah, that's it. A leap of faith."

"What did Claire want Mary to do as a leap of faith?" Brass asked.

"To go into the sewers," Elizabeth answered. "She said if Mary went down there and Carmen didn't get her, she'd let her be one of us."

"Did Mary agree?"

"Yes. We waited for Claire's parents to fall asleep, and then we snuck out. Claire knew where a sewer opening was so she took us to it. It took all six of us to get the cover off."

"Then what happened?"

"Mary went down the ladder. When she made it to the bottom, we tried to slide the lid back on but it was taking too long with just five of us pushing it."

"You were going to lock Mary in the sewer?" Sara asked, surprised by the girl's admission.

"Just until morning."

"Elizabeth Diane Thompson," Mrs. Thompson scolded, equally surprised.

Elizabeth looked at her mother. "We were going to come back and get her, Mom. I swear. Not that it mattered because Mary realized what we were doing and made it back up the ladder before we could get the lid all the way back on. Claire tried to keep her from getting out, but Mary reached up and grabbed a handful of Claire's hair." Elizabeth looked down at the table as she said, "That's, um, that's when Mary fell."

"Did anyone try to go down there after her?" Sara questioned.

"No. We didn't want to fall, too. We kept calling her name, but she wouldn't answer."

"So you just left her there?"

"Yes," Elizabeth whispered.

"She could have still been alive. Why didn't anyone call 911?"

"We didn't want to get in trouble."

"Well, you're definitely in trouble now, missy," Mrs. Thompson stated harshly.

Elizabeth again turned to her mother. "I know, Mom. I'm sorry." She looked at Brass and Sara. "I'm sorry," she reiterated and then began to cry.

Sara got up from her chair and left the room.

* * *

"_Hey, Sara."_

_Sara turned around and saw her foster sister standing at the locker next to hers. "Amanda, what do you want?" she asked._

"_I wanted to like invite you to sit with us at lunch."_

"_And why would you want to do that?"_

"_Well, duh. We're like sisters."_

"_We live in the same house, Amanda, but we're not sisters." Sara attempted to turn around, but Amanda grabbed her arm and stopped her._

"_Okay, I like totally deserved that. I've been like a total bitch to you lately, and I am so sorry. It's just sometimes you act like a total spaz, and I can't help myself."_

"_Like now?" Sara asked, as she tried to turn away again. _

_Amanda once again grabbed her arm. "Oh my God, Sara. I am such an airhead today. What I meant to say was that I'm the spaz."_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_Come on, Sara. Sit with us. It'll be like totally tubular to have you there. You can like even help me study for that mondo test I have tomorrow. Mom's going to totally kill me if I make another C."_

"_No, thanks. I like totally want to eat by myself," Sara answered sarcastically. Her subsequent attempt to turn around was also thwarted by Amanda._

"_Alex will be there. I know you think he's a total Baldwin."_

"_You know because you read my diary."_

"_I know, and I'm like totally sorry for that. You know, he asked me about you."_

"_He did?"_

"_Uh-huh. He thinks you're like a total Betty. So what do you say?"_

"_Fine, Amanda. I'll sit with you."_

"_Sweet. Later, Sara."_

_Sara retrieved her backpack from the floor and began walking towards her next class. She didn't notice the opened can of Mountain Dew in the bag until she heard Amanda and her friends laughing from across the hall._

"_Look, everyone!" Amanda shouted, pointing at the trail of yellow liquid that had followed Sara down the hall. "Suicidal wet her pants!"_

"Hey, are you okay?" Nick asked, as he sat down next to Sara in the hallway outside the interrogation rooms. "Brass said you ran out of the interrogation room."

"I wouldn't say run. It was more of a brisk walk."

"Still, Sara. It's not like you."

"I just needed some air, Nick. I'm fine."

"You don't look fine."

"No, apparently I look like someone who needs to eat a few more cookies."

"Oh," Nick said, his face turning red. "You've been talking to Connor."

"Yes, I have. I didn't know my weight bothered you that much."

"It doesn't. I just want you to take care of yourself."

"I'm trying."

"I know."

"So did you get anything out of your girls?"

"They're all pointing their fingers at each other. How about you?"

"Elizabeth Thompson claims that it was all some prank concocted by Claire Roberts to get back at Mary Sullivan for being, and I quote, 'a fugly bitch.'"

Nick shook his head at Claire's choice of nicknames for her classmate. "Man, what's with girls these days. I don't remember them being that cruel when I was in school."

"I do," Sara admitted, as she looked down at the floor.

Nick, misinterpreting Sara's lowered gaze, asked, "Don't tell me that you were like them?"

Sara looked up and over at Nick. "I wasn't," she answered. "I was more like Mary Sullivan."

"Oh. Sorry."

Sara shrugged. "It's okay. My mother murdered my father. I was an easy target. I can't blame them really."

"Yes, you can."

Sara frowned. "You know, I'd like to think that kids like that eventually grow out of it, but in my experience the majority never do. They just spend the rest of their lives being nice to people and getting them to lower their guards, just so they can then systematically break them down and make them feel worthless. They might stop pushing their friends and coworkers down actual sewers, but I can guarantee you that they still push them down virtual ones." Sara sighed and glanced towards the interrogation room. "No matter how old you get, there will always be mean girls."

Nick nudged her, causing her to return her gaze to him. "What do you say we go home?"

"Okay, but we have to make a stop first."

* * *

"Dad, are you doing something?" Connor asked, as he walked into the living room.

Grissom glanced up from the Las Vegas Sun. "Just reading this morning's paper," he replied. "Do you need something?"

"Mom said that you're an intelligest."

"Do you mean an entomologist?" Grissom corrected.

"Entomologist. That's what I said. She also said that means you study bugs."

"That's right. It does."

"Could you show me some of them?"

"You actually want to see my bugs?" Grissom asked, surprised that Connor would choose them over a video game.

"Uh-huh."

"I think your mom packed them all in the hall closet."

"I don't think she'd care if you took them out and showed them to me."

"No, I guess she wouldn't." Grissom folded up the newspaper and placed it on the coffee table. "Can you watch your sister for me? I don't want her to try to climb out of…what did Sara call that thing again?"

"A Rainforest Jumparoo."

"Right. I don't want her climbing out of the Rainforest Jumparoo."

"Okay."

After Grissom left in search of his bug collection, Connor walked over to his sister and began shaking her plastic rattle in front of her. Every time Ava reached for it, Connor moved it just out of her reach, causing the child to jump up and down and squeal in the Rainforest Jumparoo. When he heard Grissom return to the living room, he turned around and saw that his father's arms were full of different sized shadowboxes. "Is that all of them?" Connor asked.

"Not even close," Grissom answered.

* * *

"Are you sure he's taking the pills again?" Nick asked Sara, as they ascended the stairs to Warrick's apartment.

"I didn't actually see him swallow one, but I did see the bottle next to his bed, and he admitted that he had taken one to help him sleep," Sara replied.

"Damn. He swore to me that he had gotten rid of those things."

"Maybe he thought he had, and then he found another bottle stuck back in a drawer or in an old pair of pants or something."

"Maybe, but he should have known better than to take one. He knows what could happen."

"That's the problem with addiction, Nick. What you should do and what you actually do aren't always the same thing."

"I know. Well, this should be fun," Nick said, as he began to knock on Warrick's door.

Five minutes later, after Nick's hand had grown sore from knocking, Sara had taken over, and several of Warrick's neighbors had stuck their heads out of their own doors to see what was going on, a disheveled, groggy Warrick answered the door. "What the hell?" he asked Nick and Sara.

"We're staging an intervention," Nick replied.

* * *

"What's this one called?" Connor asked Grissom, pointing at the green-eyed bug right in front of him. "It's eyes are huge!"

"It's a horse fly."

"Do they call it that because it's as big as a horse?"

"No, because it tends to feed on horses, along with other animals."

"You mean they eat like a horse burger or something? 'Cause if they do, who cooks it?"

Grissom laughed at the child's logic. "No, they don't eat horse burgers. They just land on the horse and suck its blood."

"So they're kind of like vampires?"

"Kind of, but garlic doesn't kill them nearly as well as a pesticide or a rolled up newspaper."

"What's this one?" Connor inquired, pointing at the shadow box to the right of the horse fly. "It looks like a stick with legs."

"It's a phasmatodea."

"A fasa-what?"

"A phasmatodea. It's a walking stick."

"So I was right. It is a stick with legs."

"No, it's still an insect."

"If I snapped it in two, would it look like a stick inside, or would it be all white and mushy, like when you smoosh a roach?"

"It would be mushy."

"Cool. What about this one?" Connor asked, pointing to the box on the other side. "It kind of looks like Jimmy Neutron put a frog and a grasshopper in his time machine, and when they came back from the future they were all squished together into one animal."

"It's called a thorn bug."

"Is that red thing supposed to be a thorn?"

"Yes."

"If you touch it, will it cut you like a thorn?"

"Most likely."

"How did you put it in the box then?"

"I wore gloves, and I was very careful."

"What's this one," Connor asked, holding up another shadow box.

"It's a bulldog ant."

"A bulldog?" Connor questioned, raising one eyebrow to express his skepticism. "It doesn't look like any bulldog I've ever seen. Bulldogs are cute, like Hank. This ant looks kind of evil. His teeth are huge!"

"Those aren't actually teeth. They're mandibles."

"But they will still bite you with them, won't they?"

"They'll sting you, yes."

"Bite, sting. Same difference. If I go outside and kick an ant bed, will one of these come out?"

"Not unless you're in Australia."

"Man," Connor said, placing the shadow box aside.

"What's wrong?" Grissom asked.

"The Crocodile Hunter is from Australia."

"Who's the Crocodile Hunter?"

"Steve Irwin, duh."

"Right. Steve Irwin," Grissom repeated, as he made a mental note to Google the man later. "Did you want to go to Australia to see him?"

"I did, but I can't now."

"Why not?"

"Because he's dead. He got bitten…I mean stung by a stingray."

"Oh, I didn't know that. When did that happen?"

"I don't know. Awhile ago."

"Did the bulldog ant make you think of him?"

"Well, yeah. I always thought it would be cool to move to Australia and become the new Crocodile Hunter, but not if it means I have to worry about monster ants climbing in my bed. Here," Connor said, handing Grissom another shadow box. "What's this one?"

"A cicada."

"Do they bite…I mean sting?"

"No. They're actually very gentle, unless you're a tree."

"I was a tree in my first grade play."

"I didn't know that."

"That's cause Mom didn't get to come. I called and asked her, but she said she had to work."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. If I have a play this year, maybe she can come to it. Will you come if I have one?"

"I wouldn't miss it."

"I may not be a tree this time though. They might make me a bear or a lion since I'm older."

"That's okay. I'd still like to come."

"Good." Connor pointed at the shadow box in Grissom's lap. "So what does a cicola do?"

"A cicada."

"A cicada. That's what I said. Does it do anything cool?"

"It sings really loud."

"Like Mom does when she's in the shower?"

"Kind of," Grissom stated, although he doubted that his wife wanted her singing compared to the mating call of an insect.

"Does it do anything else?"

"Well, it spends most of its life underground as a nymph."

"What's a nymph?"

"It's kind of like a baby or a child version of the cicada that doesn't have any wings."

"If it doesn't have wings, how does it fly?"

"It doesn't, at least not until it's an adult. The nymph stays underground for about 17 years, at which time it goes to the surface, crawls up the side of a tree, and sheds its skin."

"Ooh. It sheds it's skin. Can you see all of its organs when it does?"

"No."

"Why not? If I shed my skin, my body parts would fall all over the floor, and Mom would be really mad at me for making a mess."

"The cicada's skin isn't like ours, Connor; it's more like a crunchy shell. Haven't you ever seen one stuck to the side of a tree?"

"No."

"I guess I'll have to take you to one of the state parks and show you one sometime then."

"Cool, but if I get bug guts all over me when the cicada comes out, Mom's not going to be happy. One time when I was at Uncle Ritchie's I spilled grape Kool-aid all over a white shirt, and Mom got so mad."

"She did?" Grissom asked, surprised that Sara was angered by something so trivial.

"Uh-huh. She even started crying, but Aunt Cam put some bleach on it and the stain came right out. When I showed it to Mom, she said she was sorry and that the next time she gets mad, I should just ignore her 'cause it was the pregnancy horoscopes--"

"Do you mean hormones?"

"Hormones. That's what I said. Anyway, Mom said I should just ignore her because it was the pregnancy _hormones_ that were making her mad, not me."

"Hmm. I'm kind of glad I missed those," Grissom admitted.

Connor frowned. "I wish I had. Hey, do you have to put all of these back in the closet, or can we hang some in my room?"

"You actually want to hang them in your room?"

"Uh-huh. They're pretty cool."

"What about SpongeRob?"

"Sponge_Bob_."

"Right, Sponge Bob. Doesn't he live under the sea?"

"Yes, but if he can have a friend that's a squirrel that lives under the sea, I can have bugs on my wall."

"I guess that makes sense."

"Can we hang them now?" Connor asked, a hopeful look on his face.

"Sure we can."

* * *

"_Mom, do you think my real dad will like me?" Connor asked Sara, as she pulled the hotel comforter up around his and Pookie's shoulders._

"_Of course, he's going to like you, Connor," she answered, brushing a stray hair out of his eyes. "You're going to need a trim soon."_

"_I know," Connor said, as he brushed the hair back into his eyes. "But what if we don't like the same things. Like what if we have different favorite colors? My favorite color is red. What's my real dad's?"_

_Sara thought a moment before answering. "You know. I'm not really sure. He has this one Hawaiian shirt that he wears all the time, and it's blue, so I'm going to guess that his favorite color is blue."_

"_See, he may not like me because I'd rather have a red shirt."_

"_Connor, Gil isn't going to care about what color shirt you want to wear."_

_Connor played with the ears on his stuffed animal as he asked the next question. "But what about TV? What if he doesn't like Zach & Cody or Ben 10?"_

"_Then we'll just get you a little TV for your room."_

"_But what if he doesn't like the type of music I listen to?"_

"_Then we'll ask Santa to bring the both of you an iPod for Christmas."_

"_But what if he thinks that I'm stupid?"_

"_You're not stupid, Connor."_

"_I know, but you said my real dad was really, really, really smart. He might think that I'm really, really, really not."_

"_No, he won't."_

"_You don't know that."_

"_Yes, I do. What's with all of the questions?"_

"_I don't know," Connor mumbled, as he pulled the covers over his and Pookie's head._

"_Connor Gilbert Barrett," Sara stated sternly._

_Connor sighed and pulled the covers back down. "I just want him to like me so you don't send me back to Dad's."_

"_Connor, I already told you, I'm not going to send you back."_

"_But if my real dad doesn't like me, you could change your mind."_

"_First of all, Connor, I am not going to change my mind. I know that that's hard for you to believe right now, but I'm not. Second of all, your real father is going to like you. No, actually, he's going to love you. I promise."_

_Connor was quiet for a moment as he thought about Sara's promise. He then asked Sara, "Is Uncle Ritchie still coming back in the morning?"_

"_As far as I know."_

"_Good. I'm sick of peanut butter and jelly, and these sheets are kind of scratchy."_

"_Yeah, they kind of are. Maybe I can talk your uncle into taking us to IHOP in the morning."_

"_Cool. Can I get pancakes with whipped cream? They always put in on in a smiley face."_

"_Sure."_

"_Good. That's way better than peanut better and jelly."_

"_Yeah, it is."_

_Connor fell quiet again before asking Sara, "Mom, can you tell me another one of your stories again?"_

"_Which one?"_

"_One of the ones about my real dad."_

"_Sure. I can do that."_

"What's all of this?" Sara asked, as she eyed the shadow boxes piled on Connor's dresser and bed.

Connor, who was sitting amidst the piles of boxes holding his sister, said, "Dad's letting me put some of his bugs on my wall."

"Well, that's cool," she said.

"I know. Do you want to hear something even cooler?"

"Sure."

"There's a bug whose skin falls off, but its organs don't fall over the place."

"Wow, I didn't know that."

"And there's another one that can prick your finger like a thorn."

"Wow, I didn't know that either."

"Dad told me all about them."

"He did?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I want you to tell me all about them, too, but first I want you to go wash your hands. I brought home pizza."

"Yum!" Connor exclaimed. He jumped up from the bed and handed Sara Ava.

"You better hurry before it gets cold."

"I am," Connor said, running out the door.

"Does this look level?" Grissom asked, turning around to face Sara and Ava.

"Yeah, it looks level to me."

"Good." Grissom put the hammer on the dresser. "I'll do the rest after dinner. How did the case go?"

"About the way I expected. You should know that Nick and I stopped by Warrick's afterwards. We made him flush the rest of the Ambien."

"I bet he wasn't too happy about that."

"No, but in the long run I think he'll realize that it's for the best." Sara smiled at him. "On a happier note, you finally told him about your bugs."

"Yes, and oddly enough he seemed to like them."

"Of course, he likes them. He's your son."

Grissom smiled, as he wiped the drywall dust on his pants. "Yeah, I guess he is."


	87. Chapter 87

**A/N: In case you came in at this chapter, I posted two new chapters this time so please read Chapter 86 first. Thanks.**

* * *

Sara took a deep breath and knocked on Dr. Young's partially opened door. Given the week that she had been having, therapy was the last place that she wanted to be that morning, but admittedly it was probably the first place that she needed. Maybe Dr. Young could tell her what she was supposed to do next; she had yet to figure it out on her own. However, given what she knew about Dr. Young and therapy in general, she would probably just ask her how she felt about what had occurred and then encourage her to go home and draw her negative feelings away instead of journaling them.

"Sara, come in," Dr. Young beckoned from her desk.

Sara, feigning a smile, walked into the office and stood in front of Dr. Young's desk. "I'm sorry I'm late. I was coming directly from a crime scene instead of from the lab, and it took me longer to get here than I thought it would."

"It's fine. Please sit," the therapist said, motioning at the chairs behind Sara. Sara obligingly sat down and began to fidget with the notebooks that she had been holding. Dr. Young, noticing both the notebooks and the jitters, asked, "Are those your journals?"

"Yeah, sorry," Sara answered, as she leaned forwarded and handed Dr. Young the notebooks.

Slowly flipping through them, Dr. Young commented, "There's quite a few of them."

"Yeah, I've kind of had a bad week. If it makes you feel any better, I only filled up half of the fourth one."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"The fourth one?" Sara responded half-heartedly, knowing full well that the doctor wasn't talking about the notebook.

"No, about your bad week."

"Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice, Sara."

"It doesn't always seem like it."

Dr. Young frowned at the comment, closed the notebooks, and placed them in front of her. "The last time you were here, we talked a lot about your husband coming home and how you were handling it."

"I remember," Sara said, as she stared past Dr. Young at the diplomas that hung on the wall.

"Just flipping through the journals, I noticed that a lot of entries have his name in it. Is that a fair assessment?"

"Yes."

"Does that mean that the two of you are still having problems?"

Sara snickered and returned her gaze to Dr. Young. "You could say that."

"Are those problems why you're having a bad week?"

"You could say that as well."

When Sara failed to elaborate, Dr. Young opened the notebook that was on top of the pile. She flipped through several pages and then stopped. "His name doesn't appear as much in this first volume. Is there a reason for that?"

"I guess it's because I thought that we were in a better place after I left here last Thursday. We had a really long talk when we got home. It was more about my father than about us, but I don't know. Afterwards, it finally felt like we were moving forward. We actually made it through the entire weekend without a single fight. We even had this whole family-bonding outing on Saturday."

"_I can't believe that I am actually doing this," Grissom whispered to Sara, as he unhitched the back of the truck in the parking lot of the Wetlands Park._

"_Come on. It'll be fun," Sara responded. She climbed into the back of the truck and handed Grissom one of the bikes, who was grimacing at the suggestion._

"_You say fun. I say painful," he said, as he took the bike, placed it against the truck, and reached for the next one. "I should have slipped Nick a fifty so he'd refuse to loan us the truck and baby-sit."_

_Sara handed Grissom the second of the bikes. "Then I would have just rented a truck and asked Lindsey Willows to baby-sit." After handing him the third bike, she jumped down and stood next to Grissom. She nodded at Connor, who was sitting on the grass marking the map that they had gotten at the park's entrance with the pen that he had found in the truck's glove compartment. "Look at him. He's so excited. He's done nothing but talk about this since you suggested the idea."_

"_Well, I don't know what I was thinking when I did. I haven't ridden a bicycle in years. No, make that decades."_

"_Well, you know what they say, don't you?" _

"_If you rest, you rust? In which case, my legs appear to be completely corroded."_

"_No," Sara said with a laugh, as she silently noted how much Grissom, with his crossed arms and sullen countenance, resembled their son whenever she told him that he couldn't have the toy that he wanted._

"_Then what?"_

"_Riding a bike is…like riding a bike." _

"_Is that supposed to be funny?"_

"_Yes and no. You'll be fine." Grissom snickered, doubting the accuracy of Sara's statement. Sara decided to humor him for a moment, as she continued, "You know, you're right. You won't be fine. You'll probably wipe out five minutes down the trail and skin both knees, both elbows, maybe even your nose, that's assuming you can even make it out of the parking lot. We should just turn around now and go home so that we can sign you up for your AARP discount, order you one of those Hoverounds for the lab, and get you a Life Alert monitor to wear around you neck in case you fall and can't get up."_

"_I'm not that old yet," Grissom responded through gritted teeth._

"_Are you sure? Because I have no problem picking you up some Depends the next time I go to the grocery store. You've changed one diaper, you've changed them all," Sara said with a smirk._

_Grissom sighed and looked over at his son. "Connor, come get your bike," he directed._

_While Connor folded up his map, Sara glanced over at Grissom. "It's okay if you want to sit in the car while Connor and I ride. I find the smell of Ben-Gay and Polident kind of sexy."_

"_Uh-huh," Grissom muttered._

_Connor walked over to them and grabbed his bike from where it was leaning against the truck. "Mom, when we get through riding, can we go in the Nature Preserve? The brochure said that you can see all kind of birds and animals in there, and there's a bunch of different trails you can go on. You just can't take your bike."_

_Sara looked over at Grissom and smirked. "Only if your father doesn't need a wheelchair by then."_

"_Why would Dad need a wheelchair?" Connor asked, confused by his mother's comment._

"_In case he falls down."_

"_I thought you said you knew how to ride a bike," Connor said, as he looked over at Grissom._

"_I do," Grissom answered._

"_Then why did Mom say you needed a wheelchair?"_

"_Because she was being a smart ass," Grissom stated. He took hold of his own bike and started rolling it towards the beginning of Duck Creek Trailhead._

_Connor looked up at Sara and stated, "He said a bad word."_

"_That he did," she responded. She handed Connor his bike helmet. "Put this on."_

"_Okay," Connor said, as he took the helmet. "Is he going to be in trouble?"_

"_For what?" _

"_For saying a bad word."_

"_Nah, I think I'll let it slide this time."_

"_Why?"_

_Sara, stifling a laugh as she watched Grissom attempt to mount his bike, answered, "Because your father's already in enough trouble."_

_Connor gave his mother another confounded look before climbing onto his own bike. Peddling towards Grissom, he shouted, "Hey, Dad! If you have to get a wheelchair, can I ride in it with you?"_

"It sounds like the three of you had fun," Dr. Young commented on Sara's recollection of the event.

"We did, even if Gil complained the entire time," Sara said, smiling sadly at the memory. "After we got home and put the kids to bed, I guess you could say that we, uh, bonded some more."

"_Remind me again why I thought bike riding was a good idea," Grissom vented from the his prone position in the bed._

"_Because you wanted to bond with your son," Sara responded, frowning at her crimson-clad image in the bathroom mirror. She didn't know what Cindy and Mindy had been thinking when they had bought this little ensemble for her. Scratch that, Sara thought to herself. She knew what they had been thinking; it was the who that still eluded her. Apparently, they had gotten her confused with some Playboy model._

"_Right. I still say there were easier ways to do that. I could have taken him to the library."_

"_You're not supposed to talk in a library," Sara pointed out, as she centered the thin red straps on her shoulders and adjusted her cleavage one more time. In the lacy getup, she was hardly one of Hef's girls next door, but thanks to the wonders of breastfeeding, she filled it up enough to at least be the girl down the street._

"_People can bond without talking."_

"_People, maybe. Eight year olds, not so much." Sara, finally satisfied with the placement of the garment, smoothed a few wayward curls before tying the belt on her robe._

"_Well, does bonding have to be so painful? I'm going to be lucky if I can move tomorrow," Grissom continued to complain._

_Sara left the bathroom and stood at the foot of the bed, blocking Grissom's view of the Discovery Channel. "How's your range of motion now?" she asked him._

_Grissom, aiming the remote around Sara, hit the volume button and responded, "Very limited. Why?"_

"_I just needed your help with something."_

"_What's that?" Grissom inquired, stretching his neck in a fruitless attempt to get a better view of the TV._

"_This," Sara answered, untying the robe and letting it fall open to reveal the red negligee that she wore beneath. She left the robe open for a few moments longer and then retied the robe. "But since you're not feeling up to it…"_

"_I'm up," Grissom stated, wincing as he propped himself up on the bed._

"_Are you sure? Because I'm fine changing into sweats and watching, um," Sara paused, as she turned to look at the TV. "Planet Earth with you."_

"_It's a rerun," Grissom said, turning off the TV._

"_Well, I don't think I've seen it, so it's new to me."_

"_So I'll TiVo it for you."_

"_No, don't bother. You're in too much pain. Just lay back down, and I'll go take this ridiculous thing off."_

_As Sara started towards the bathroom, Grissom got up from the bed. "Sara, wait," he pleaded, hobbling closer to her. Sara, who had been smiling to herself, stopped, turned around, and waited for a limping Grissom to close the remaining distance between them. When he was finally within arm's length, Grissom reached for the robe's belt and untied it. "I agree. Take this ridiculous thing off, but not what's underneath."_

"_But you're not going to be able to move tomorrow. You can barely walk now."_

_Grissom, slipping the robe off of Sara's shoulders, replied, " 'The heart asks pleasure first and then, excuse from pain.' "_

"So what happened to set you back?" Dr. Young asked.

"Monday happened. Because of the new schedule, we're now a little short-handed on Sunday nights. Catherine and I got called out to this scene at the Palermo late in the shift, so we ended up having to work a double. Because of that, I came home late Monday morning, or I guess you could say early based on my husband's perspective."

_Sara fumbled with the keys as she attempted to unlock the front door. She was so tired that she couldn't quite get the key to line up with the keyhole. A few years ago, she could have been wide awake after a double. Hell, Sara thought to herself, she would have even volunteered for a triple. Now all she wanted to do was go inside, take a nice, hot bath, and go to sleep, blissfully unaware of the good old days when all she needed was a cup of bad coffee and a good whodunit to make it through the night._

_Finally able to insert the key, Sara turned the knob and pushed open the door. "Hi, honey, I'm ho--," she began to say, but the "home" broke off when she saw Grissom and Heather standing in front of the sofa, their lips firmly pressed against each other._

"_You bastard," Sara cursed, causing the two to quickly part. Grissom, seeing her in the entryway, began to round the sofa towards her. Sara, backing up, continued her verbal tirade. "You lying, no good, piece of--"_

"_It's not what you think," Heather stated from the living room, cutting off her final explicative._

_Sara shook her head at the comment and reached for the doorknob behind her. Grissom, who had managed to close the distance between them, grabbed hold of her other arm._

"_Sara, please," he pleaded._

_Sara jerked her arm away. "Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me again." As she opened the door, she looked at Heather and declared, "He's all yours."_

"Is this the same Heather that he cheated on you with before, the one…" Dr. Young paused, as she flipped back to earlier notes. "The one that you referred to as Elvira, Mistress of the Dark?"

"The one and the same. Gil promised me that it was over between them, and I was stupid enough to believe him."

"Where did you go after that?"

"The one place that I knew he wouldn't look for me."

"_Sara," Kit Carson greeted her from behind the bar._

"_Hi, Kit," Sara said, as she sat down on one of the bar stools._

"_Have you come to take me up on that job offer?"_

"_No, I came to forget," Sara answered, propping her chin on her left hand._

"_Forget what?" Kit asked._

"_As much as I can," Sara admitted sheepishly._

"_Sounds like man trouble."_

"_Is there any other kind?"_

"_Not to my knowledge. So what can I get you?"_

"_A shot of whatever makes me forget the fastest."_

"Did the alcohol help?"

"I'm sure as a doctor you know that it didn't."

"_How's the forgetting going?" Kit asked Sara an hour later._

"_I don't know. Ask me my name."_

_Kit, humoring Sara, asked, "What's your name?"_

"_Sara Sidle. Sorry, Sara Grissom. Yeah, it's not going so well. How about a shot of something stronger?"_

"_How about I give you something even better than that?"_

"Did she offer you drugs?" Dr. Young asked, concerned that Sara had used something far worse than alcohol to cope.

"No. She offered me…temporary validation."

"_I'm not so sure this is such a great idea," Sara stated, eying the leather pants and slinky halter top that Kit had handed her in her office. _

"_Oh, come on. They'll look great on you."_

"_Um…kay," Sara mumbled, unsure of the accuracy of that statement. "What about the rest of me? I just got off a double shift. I'm a glorified mess."_

"_Nothing a little makeup and a curling iron can't fix."_

"_But I haven't done this in awhile. I'm not even sure I remember how."_

"_Sara, you can take the girl out of the Kit Kat Bar, but you can't take the Kit Kat Bar out of the girl. Now go change."_

"I take it that means that you got on top of the bar," Dr. Young concluded.

"Yes," Sara said.

"Did being up there make you feel better about what had happened?"

"No, but I didn't expect it to."

"What did you expect?"

"To feel wanted…desirable…pretty."

"Did you feel those things?"

"For a little while. Then I just felt empty."

"How long did you stay?"

"I can't remember the exact amount of minutes or hours. I just know that I stayed until my friends came."

"_I thought you said that Sara was here!" Warrick shouted to Nick over the blaring rock music._

"_She is," Nick answered._

"_Where? I don't see her?" Greg asked, looking around the crowded room._

"_That's because y'all aren't looking in the right place. Look up," Nick responded._

_Greg and Warrick looked up at the bar, where Sara and the rest of the bartenders were finishing the last few choreographed steps to Warrant's "Cherry Pie." _

_Warrick, unsettled by this sexed-up version of his coworker, muttered, "Oh, my--."_

"_God," Greg finished for him, unable to take his eyes off of Sara._

"_Close your mouth, Greg," Nick directed._

_Greg closed his mouth but opened it again. "I never realized that Sara's…uh…I mean I never knew they were so…" he said, his eyes never leaving Sara's chest._

_Warrick hit Greg in the arm. "Cut it out," he told the younger CSI._

"_I didn't mean anything bad by it. I just meant…"_

"_We know what you meant."_

"_Whatever Grissom did, it must have been pretty bad," Nick told the other two men._

"_Grissom didn't tell you anything when he called?" Warrick asked._

"_No. He just said Sara was upset and asked if we could look for her."_

"_With an outfit like that, I'm guessing you-know-who was involved," Greg theorized._

"_Yeah, unfortunately, I'm guessing the same thing."_

_Warrick shook his head as Sara spun around and nearly fell off the end of the bar. "I guess we should go get her before she breaks her neck." _

_The three men pushed through the crowd until they were at the bar. Nick had to shout out Sara's name several times before she noticed them. Rather than look embarrassed that they had caught her on top of the bar, Sara's face lit up._

"_Guys!" she exclaimed before sitting down and sliding off the bar onto the floor. Taking a few unsteady steps towards them, she asked, "What are you doing here?"_

"_We were worried about you," Nick stated._

"_Aw, that's so sweeeeet," Sara slurred, before giving each of the men a long hug. "But as you can seeeee, I'm perfectly okaaaaay." She tried to take a step backwards but stumbled. _

_Warrick quickly grabbed her, stopping her from falling over completely. "We can see that," he said._

"_Oopsy," Sara said, before breaking into laughter._

_Greg looked over at Nick and mouthed, "Oopsy?"_

_Sara grabbed Warrick and Nick's hands. "Come. There's someone I want you to meeeet."_

_She lead them towards the end of the bar, where a woman was drying off a beer mug on the other side. "Guys, this is Kit. She owns this place. Kit, these are my boys." Sara turned to face the men and pointed at them one by one. "Nicky, Ricky, and Dicky."_

_All three men furrowed their brows in response to Sara's introduction._

_Kit, likewise confused by the names Sara had used, addressed Greg, "The other night you said your name was Greg."_

"_It is," Greg responded._

"_Not anymore," Sara said in as sing-song voice._

"_So why Dicky?" Kit asked._

_Sara looked at Kit. "Well, duh, because it rhyyyyymes." She then staggered over to Greg and pinched his cheeks. "And because Ducky was already taken."_

"_Oh, well, that explains it," Kit said, humoring her again._

_Sara released Greg's cheeks and turned back around to face the bartender. "Kit, three of your finest beers for my boys. My treeeeat."_

"_Actually, Kit, that won't be necessary. We're just here to take Sara home," Nick told the bartender. Nick tried to steer Sara away from the bar, but she pulled free of his grip._

"_No. I don't waaaaanna."_

"_Sara, come on," Nick pleaded._

"_No. It's not my home anymore," Sara said, crossing her arms in front of her._

"_Then whose is it?"_

"_Madame Doooom's."_

"_Oh."_

"_Who's Madame Doom?" Kit asked._

"_Trust me. You don't want to know," Greg told the bartender._

"_Okay, Sara. You don't have to go home. You can come home with one of us," Nick said, as he tried to get Sara to compromise._

"_Really?" Sara asked, perking up at the suggestion._

"_Really."_

"_Aw. I love you guys," she said, as she laid her head against Nick's chest and wrapped her arms around his waist._

_Nick looked over at Greg and Warrick as he awkwardly patted Sara on the back. "Yeah, we, uh, love you, too, Sara."_

"So you went home with one of them after that?"

"Not immediately."

"Why not?"

"Apparently, no one really wanted custody of drunk Sara. They had to draw straws first to see who got the pleasure of taking me home."

"Who got the short straw?"

"Warrick."

"_All right, Sara, here we are," Warrick informed her, as he guided her up the last step to his apartment door, one arm around her waist, the other holding onto the arm that encircled his neck. _

_Sara clumsily tried to turn around and look down the stairs. "We're so hiiiigh," she exclaimed._

_Warrick tightened his grip around Sara's waist to keep her from falling back down them. "One of us is," he mumbled._

"_I heard that," Sara informed him. "It's okaaaay. I'm L…O…L." She then laughed to prove it._

"_Good for you. Okay, now, Sara, I'm going to have to let go of you so that I can unlock the door. Do you think you can manage to hold onto the wall for me."_

"_Nuh-uh," Sara answered, shaking her head. "But I can sit down, down, down, dowwwwn."_

_Warrick frowned at her. "I guess that'll have to do then. Okay, here you go," he said, as he eased her down to the ground._

"_Weeeee," she said, giggling. As Warrick proceeded to unlock the door, Sara tilted her head to the side to have a better look at the stairs. "When did you get so many stairsssss? They weren't there before."_

"_Yes, they were," Warrick informed her. He pushed opened the door, shoved his keys in his pocket, and turned back to Sara. Holding his arms out to her, he said, "Come on. Let's get you inside."_

" '_Kay." Sara let Warrick help her up from the ground and guide her inside. While Warrick subsequently shut and locked the front door, Sara walked unsteadily to the fridge. Opening the refrigerator door, she peered inside and declared, "Ooh, beer." She then took one and made her way to the living room with Warrick at her heels. _

"_Sara, don't you think you've enough of those?" he asked._

_Sara sat heavily on the sofa. "Not if I'm still consh--shu--not if I'm still awake." She fiddled with the top for a minute. "I can't get it open," she whined._

"_Here, let me," Warrick said, reaching for the bottle. _

'_Thanks," she responded, handing it to him. When Warrick took the bottle of beer and returned it to the fridge, she yelled at him, "Hey!"_

"_No more alcohol, Sara," he said on his way back to the living room. _

"_You're no fun." She got up from the sofa and walked over to the entertainment center, where she began fiddling with the buttons on Warrick's stereo. "You were a lot more fun before you got shhhhot."_

"_Sorry," Warrick apologized, as he sat down in the arm chair._

_Sara, finally settling on a station, turned up the volume, and then turned to face Warrick. "What you neeeed is to loosen up. No. Scratch that. What you neeeed is to get laaaaid."_

"_I'll keep that in mind."_

"_You know, I would be a reeeeally good way to get back at Catherine," Sara teased, as she tried to walk seductively over to Warrick but ended up tripping over her own feet._

_Warrick, trying to bite back laughter as Sara raised her arms in attempt to balance herself, responded, "I'm sure you would be."_

_Sara, noticing Warrick's grin, asked angrily, "What? Am I not pretty enough for you?"_

"_Sara, you're plenty pretty. Incredibly drunk, but pretty."_

"_Then what's soooo funny?"_

"_It's nothing."_

"_Then what do you ssssay you and I," she began before straddling Warrick's lap, "go have ssssome fun."_

_When she tried to stroke his face, Warrick grabbed hold of Sara's hand. "Sara, I'm flattered. I really am, but this isn't going to happen."_

"_Why not?" she asked, pouting._

"_Well, for starters you're drunk."_

"_Sssso get drunk with me," Sara urged, her face just inches from Warrick's own. "Then we can be drunk…together."_

"_But you'd still be married to my boss and my friend."_

"_Minor technicality," she whispered, as she attempted to kiss him._

_Warrick turned his head and pushed her away. "Sara, no."_

_Sara, huffing, stood up. "What'sssss your problem? Is it because I'm not a sssstrip--stripper? I know you have a thing for them. Catherine. Candy Cane. I may have never worked a pole professionally, but I can give a hell of a lap dancccce."_

"_I'm sure you can."_

"_What, you don't believe me? Just watch me," Sara said. She began to sway seductively in front of Warrick, running her hands slowly over her body. Then just as suddenly as she began her drunken striptease, she stopped, grabbed her stomach, and leaned over._

"_Sara, are you okay?" Warrick asked._

"_Nuh-uh," she mumbled. She then looked up at him, her face noticeably pale. "I think…I think I'm going to be," she said, gulping loudly. "Oh, God. I think I'm going to be--" Sara stopped talking, shuddered, and then puked onto the floor, chair, and the man who sat there. "Sick," she finished._

_Warrick, grimacing as he looked down at the vomit on his shirt, told her, "Well, you got the hell part right."_

"He should have thrown me out after that, but he didn't. He helped me to the bathroom, and when I was through praying to the porcelain gods, so to speak, he got me some clothes to wear and tucked me into bed."

"Did you sleep with him?" Dr. Young asked Sara.

"Why is that important?" Sara inquired in turn.

"Some people use sex as a coping mechanism. If you did the same, that's something we're going to need to address."

Sara sighed. "No, I didn't, at least not in the way you think."

"_Here, drink this," Warrick directed, handing Sara a Styrofoam cup._

_Sara squinted, trying to determine the identity of the cup's contents. "What is it?" she asked._

"_Ginger ale. It will help settle your stomach."_

"_Thanks," she said. She took a few sips of the soda and then placed the cup on the bedside table._

"_How do you feel?"_

"_Empty, in more ways than one."_

"_That's understandable. Do you need anything else before I leave?"_

"_No," Sara answered, shaking her head. _

"_Try to get some sleep then."_

_When Warrick was halfway to the bedroom door, Sara stopped him. "Warrick, wait."_

"_Did you think of something?" he asked, turning around._

"_Yeah, could you, um, could you stay, at least for a little while? The nightmares are worse when I'm alone."_

_Warrick could tell from Sara's melancholy expression that she was no longer coming onto him. "Sure," he said. He then walked over to the bed and laid down next to Sara._

"_Do you ever dream about that night?" she asked him._

"_All the time," Warrick admitted._

"_Me, too."_

"Of course, that didn't stop certain people from assuming that we did more than just sleep."

"_What the…!" Catherine exclaimed._

_Sara opened her eyes to see Warrick still lying next to her and Catherine at the bedroom door with her hands on her hips. "Catherine, what are you doing here?" she asked_

"_I could ask you the same thing."_

_Sara hit Warrick on the arm in an attempt to wake him up. "What?" he mumbled when he finally opened his eyes and looked at Sara. Sara nodded in Catherine's direction. Warrick turned over, saw Catherine, and muttered, "Ah, shit."_

_Sara, sitting up, addressed her boss. "It's not what you think."_

"_You have no idea what I think."_

"Did you try to explain to Catherine what had actually happened?" Dr. Young inquired.

"I tried, but she wouldn't listen."

"Did you try to explain it to your husband as well?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he didn't ask."

"Do you think that Catherine told him about what she saw?"

"I'm sure she did."

"And that doesn't worry you?"

"Why should it? Gil wasn't too worried about me when he was kissing another woman in our living room or screwing her in our bed. Why should I care if he thinks that I slept with someone else?"

"Because he's your husband."

"For the time being."

"Because Warrick Brown works for him."

"Warrick can handle himself. Besides, Warrick can do no wrong in Gil's eyes. He always forgives Warrick, no matter how grievous the offense. It's me that Gil has problems forgiving."

"When did you finally go home?"

"After shift."

"Was Gil waiting for you when you did?"

"No. He stayed at the lab while I packed."

"Why?"

"Because I asked him to."

"Is that what you wanted him to do?"

Sara, perplexed by the doctor's question, answered, "If it wasn't, I wouldn't have asked him."

"But was there some part of you that wanted Gil to stop you?"

Sara shook her head. "I caught him kissing another woman."

"Yes, but you've caught him doing a lot worse before, with the same woman I might add."

"So?"

"So you came back. You tried to put your marriage back together. You tried to fix what was broken. Why aren't you doing that now?"

"Maybe I'm just too tired to try this time. Maybe I don't even want to try. Maybe I think Gil doesn't want to either."

"Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. His actions, or lack thereof, spoke volumes."

"Does that mean that Gil never tried to explain his actions?"

"No, he tried. Yesterday, in fact. I just wasn't in the mood to listen."

_Sara squinted against the afternoon sun, as she peaked out Nick's front window. Ava had been crying on and off again for the last three hours, prompting Nick to graciously offer to pick up Connor from school so that she could get some rest. However, the incessant knocking at the front door was keeping her from achieving that goal and had restarted the child's crying._

_Sara allowed the blinds to fall shut as she patted Ava on the back. "Shh, pumpkin. It's okay. It's just Daddy." Sara continued to try to comfort Ava while she unlocked and opened the door. "What are you doing here?" she asked Grissom, who was standing on the stoop, shuffling his feet, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket._

"_I thought that maybe we could talk," he responded._

"_I don't have time to talk. I have to pick up Connor."_

"_I thought Nick left to do that half an hour ago."_

"_How do you know that?" Sara asked_

"_I saw him leave," Grissom admitted._

_Sara shook her head in anger, as she tried to find the words to respond. "You saw him…What, are you stalking me now?"_

"_No, I was just trying to get up the nerve to come inside."_

"_Really? I didn't know that I was that scary."_

"_You're not. I just meant…never mind. Can I come in?"_

_Sara stared at him a second before opening the door wider. "Sure," she answered curtly. After Grissom stepped inside, Ava let out a loud scream, startling both of them._

_With furrowed brow, Grissom asked Sara, "Is she okay?"_

"_What do you care?" Sara responded, shutting the door._

"_She's my daughter."_

"_When it's convenient for you," Sara smarted. Seeing, however, that Grissom did indeed look concerned, she softened her tone. "Yes, she's fine. She's just grumpy. I think she may be teething."_

"_Is there anything that I can do?" Grissom asked, as he touched Ava's back._

_Sara moved Ava away from his touch and walked to the other side of Nick's living room. "No, I have it covered, so talk if you're going to talk."_

_Grissom sighed and turned towards her. "I…What you saw the other day, it wasn't what you think."_

_Sara rolled her eyes at the comment. "How did I know you were going to say that?" Sitting down, she angrily asked, "So tell me, oh wise one, what was it then?"_

"_We were just saying goodbye."_

"_By sticking your tongues down each other's throats? That kind of makes it hard to say the actual word, doesn't it?"_

"_I wasn't…She didn't…," Grissom stammered, as he tried to figure out the best way to respond to Sara's anger and explain. Finally deciding to go with the blatant truth, he sat down across from her and said, "It was just a kiss on the lips. No tongues were involved." _

"_Well, that makes it all better then. So tell me, what were the two of you doing just before the no-tongues-involved kiss?"_

"_Nothing, Sara. We were just talking."_

"_The way you talked on New Year's Eve?" _

"_No," he said, rubbing at the area above his eyes._

_Sara, however, refused to take his "no" for an answer. "So did the two manage to 'talk' in my bed this time, or did you never make it off the sofa?"_

"_Sara, nothing happened. I swear."_

_Ava let out another scream before sticking her hand in her mouth. Sara began to rub circles on her back while she talked to Grissom. "Well, obviously your daughter doesn't believe you. Why should I? Tell me, why should I believe a damn thing that comes out of your mouth?"_

"_Because it's the truth."_

"_Was it the truth when you promised me that you were cutting Heather out of your life?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Yet there she was in our living room with her lips glued to yours. So if your promise was the truth, how exactly did that happen?"_

"_She came by. She wanted to talk about what happened."_

"_And you let her in?"_

"_Yes."_

"_After you said you wouldn't?"_

"_Yes. I thought…I thought that she would be gone before you came home."_

"_Well, then that totally excuses it."_

"_No, it doesn't. I know that I screwed up, but…_

"_But what?"_

"_But I thought that I owed her that much. I wasn't exactly gracious the last time we spoke."_

"_You owed her?" Sara asked, as she stood up with Ava and began pacing the living room. "The woman who slept with you knowing full well that you belonged to someone else? You…owe…her?"_

"_We were friends once, Sara."_

"_Friends. Right…And I'm your wife, in case you've forgotten," Sara stated, as she stopped her pacing to stand in front of Grissom._

"_I haven't," Grissom said, looking up at her._

"_But yet you felt like you owed your old friend slash mistress more than you owed me?"_

"_No. I--" Grissom began to answer Sara, but he stopped when he heard the door open behind him. Turning around in the chair, he saw Connor and Nick standing in the doorway._

"_Mom," Connor said, as he looked from his mother to his father.. _

_Sara, trying to look less angry, smiled and returned the greeting. "Hey, baby. How was school?"_

"_Fine," he responded. He dropped his book bag on the floor and took a step closer to them. "What is he doing here?"_

_Standing up, Grissom answered for Sara. "I, uh, came by to see you and your sister."_

"_No, you didn't," Connor said._

"_Yes, I did."_

"_Then why is Mom crying?"_

_Sara reached up and wiped away the tears that she hadn't realized were there. "I'm not crying. I just have something in my eye."_

"_No, you're crying," Connor argued, as he crossed his arms in front of him. "I can tell. I'm not stupid, you know."_

"_I do know."_

"_And if he's here to see us, why isn't he holding Ava?"_

"_He just got here, Connor. I haven't had a chance to give her to him yet."_

"_No, he's not holding her because he doesn't want to hold her, just like he doesn't want to see me."_

"_That's not true."_

"_Yes, it is. He doesn't want us. He never has."_

"_That's not true either."_

"_Yes, it is."_

"_Why would you think that?" Sara asked, confused as to where her son's sudden onslaught of accusations was coming from._

"_If he wanted us, he wouldn't have let us leave." _

"_Connor, I didn't have a choice," Grissom told his son. _

"_Yes, you did. You think I don't know why we left, but I do. Mom saw you kissing that Heather person."_

_Grissom, surprised by this admission, turned towards his wife. "Sara," he accused._

_Sara held up one hand in denial. "I didn't tell him."_

"_Then how?" Grissom asked her._

_Before Sara could say anything, Connor answered for her. "I heard Mom talking to Nick about it. You told me she wasn't your girlfriend, but you lied, just like you lied when you said you wanted us."_

"_I didn't lie," Grissom protested. _

"_Yes, you did. You don't want us, and you don't love us either."_

"_Connor, that's not true, and you know it," Sara interjected._

_Connor looked at his mother as he spoke. "No, I don't. Michael told me that he loved me every night when I went to bed. You tell me that you love me all the time. Uncle Ritchie and Aunt Cam tell me a lot, too, but Dad has never told me that he loves me, not once."_

"_Connor, I--" Grissom began to apologize, but Connor stopped him before he could finish the sentiment._

"_Don't love me. I know. You don't love me. You don't love Ava. You don't love Mom. All you love is yourself and your stupid girlfriend." Connor turned around and ran out the front door._

_Sara, setting her jaw, turned to Grissom and asked irately, "Are you happy now?" She then walked over to Nick and held Ava out to him. "Nick, can you?"_

"_Yeah," Nick responded, taking the child from her arms._

_He and Grissom then watched as Sara followed Connor out the front door._

"I take it from that exchange that your son isn't taking your new living arrangements very well."

"No, he's not, and it's all my fault."

"Why do you think that?"

"Other than the obvious reason?" Sara asked Dr. Young. The therapist nodded in response. "When we were in L.A., I would tell Connor stories about his father when he couldn't sleep. They were usually stories about how Gil had helped or saved someone through his job. They were all true, but I guess after awhile the stories kind of merged together and made him sound like some kind of superhero, a guy who could essentially do no wrong. Now Connor is having to deal with the fact that even Superman has flaws."

"A lot of children think of their parents that way."

"A lot of children weren't abandoned by their mothers and consequently feel like everyone in their life is going to abandon them."

"Did Connor tell you that's how he feels?"

"More or less."

"_Connor, wait up!" Sara called after her son, who was walking at a brisk pace several lots ahead._

"_No!" Connor yelled, walking faster._

_Sara sped up as well. "Connor, I'm not asking; I'm telling you to stop!" she ordered. Connor, in response, stopped walking and sat down on the edge of one of Nick's neighbor's lawns. He was wiping at his face with his shirt when Sara sat next to him. "Where are you going?" she asked._

"_Home," Connor answered, sniffing._

"_You plan on walking?"_

"_No, I'm taking the bus. I saw a bus stop at the end of the street."_

"_You're going to take the bus back to the townhouse?" _

"_No. Back to San Francisco."_

_Sara glanced over at her son and said, "I don't think that this bus goes that far."_

_Connor, realizing that his mother was right, crossed his arms in frustration and stuck out his bottom lip. "So I'll find one that does." _

"_Why do you suddenly want to go back to San Francisco?"_

" '_Cause that's the only place where someone loves me."_

"_I love you."_

"_So? You're just going to leave me again."_

"_No, I'm not."_

"_Yes, you are. You always leave, and then who am I supposed to live with--Dad? He doesn't love me." _

"_Yes, he does."_

"_No, he doesn't."_

"_Connor, he's your father. Of course he loves you."_

"_He's never said it."_

"_I know, and I'm sorry about that. You've just got to understand. Your father…he's not exactly good with people."_

"_But I'm not people. I'm his son."_

"_I know. He just…shows his love in other ways. Like he went bike riding with you on Saturday. He wouldn't have done that if he didn't love you."_

_Connor pulled up a clump of grass and then let the blades fall through his fingers. "Yeah, and he complained the entire time." Connor's voice became whiny as he recalled Grissom's complaints.. "He's too old to ride a bike. He's too old to go that far. His legs hurt. His back hurts. His butt hurts. Blah, blah, blah."_

"_Complaining is not the same as not loving someone. He's picked you up from school almost every day."_

"_So? Some kids get picked up by the bus driver. It doesn't mean that the bus driver loves them."_

"_No, I guess it doesn't. Your dad has done other things with you though. He played that video game with you. He showed you his bug collection."_

"_Only because I asked him to."_

"_He helped me tuck you in every night before we went to work."_

"_I'm too old to be tucked in."_

"_You know what I mean, Connor. He went to your room and told you good night."_

"_Yeah, good night. Not 'I love you, Connor.'" Connor pulled up another clump of grass and then dropped it before continuing. "Michael told me that he loved me all the time, and he wasn't even my real father. Dad has never said it to me once."_

"_That doesn't mean that he doesn't love you."_

_Connor rubbed the remaining dirt against his shorts before looking at Sara. "Has he ever told you that he loves me?"_

"_I'm sure he has."_

"_When?" Connor asked. He only gave Sara a few seconds to think before he proclaimed, "See, he hasn't, and he's never said it to Ava either."_

"_Still, Connor, that doesn't mean--"_

"_Yes, it does. If you love someone, you tell them. Dad has never told me that he loves me, which means he doesn't love me. I'd rather live with Michael than live with him."_

_Sara sighed. "You don't have to live with your father," she stated._

"_Yes, I do. He'll say his sorry for kissing that lady, and you'll say it's okay, and then you'll make us go back there, and he'll just pretend to like me when he doesn't."_

"_Connor, I don't know what you want me to say."_

"_Say we don't have to go back there."_

"_We don't have to go back there."_

"_Really?"_

"_If that's what you want, then yes, really."_

"_Good."_

"_Do you still want to go to San Francisco?"_

"_I don't know. Maybe."_

"_Well, can we go back to Nick's why you decide?"_

"_Is Dad still there?"_

"_He could be."_

"_Then no, I don't want to go back to Nick's."_

_Sara put her arm around Connor's shoulders and pulled him closer to her. "Okay, then we'll just sit right here." _

"Have you talked to your husband since then?"

"Other than in the context of work, no, and even then I've tried to avoid him."

"He didn't go after you or Connor?"

"No. Apparently Nick told him to, but he wouldn't listen."

"_You should go after them," Nick told Grissom, as he shut the door behind Sara._

"_What would that accomplish?" Grissom asked._

"_Are you kidding me? Jeez, Griss, for someone so smart, you can really be stupid sometimes. What would it accomplish? Try repairing some of the damage that you've done."_

_Grissom sat back down in the chair that he had vacated earlier. "I didn't sleep with Heather," he told Nick._

_Nick, joining him in the living room, said, "I didn't say that you did."_

"_Sara thinks that I did."_

"_Well, can you blame her, given your track record with that woman? Hell, the entire department has been talking about you and Lady Heather for years. Did you think that Sara was immune from the gossip?"_

"_No. I just thought that she was bright enough to separate fact from fiction."_

"_She is, Grissom, but she's also human, and it's not like you have ever done anything to disprove the rumors to Sara or to anyone else."_

"_Maybe that's because I believe that my private life is my business and mine alone."_

"_And I respect that, Grissom. I do, but your private life became Sara's business the minute that you allowed her into it. You can't just shut her out when it suits you, especially when it comes to Lady Heather."_

"_I didn't know that I had."_

"_Seriously? What about last year when you spent the night at Lady Heather's house?"_

"_I told Sara about it."_

"_Yeah, after the fact. You were living together, and you couldn't even bother to call Sara and tell her that you weren't coming home and why. She had to hear about it through the lab grapevine."_

"_Sara told me that she was fine with it."_

"_And you believed her?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Would you have been fine with her spending the night at Hank Peddigrew's house and not telling you about it until after half the lab had whispered in your ear about what they thought she and Hank had been doing?"_

"_Yes. I trust Sara."_

"_Really? Then why are you so ready to believe that Sara and I are sleeping together?"_

"_I don't believe that."_

"_So then why did you tell Sara that you did?"_

"_I said it in a moment of anger. I didn't mean it."_

"_Which is part of the problem, Grissom. You either speak out of anger, about a case, or not at all. Maybe that was fine when it was just you, when it was just a personality quirk, but it's not just you anymore, and it's not just a quirk. You're married now. You have two kids, one of whom just ran out of here in tears because he thinks that you don't love him."_

"_I know." _

"_Is he right?"_

"_Of course not."_

"_Then go tell him that. Kids need to know that they're loved, Grissom. They need to hear it. So do wives for that matter."_

"_I know."_

"_Then why are you still sitting here?"_

"_Because I don't know that it would make a difference at this point."_

"Nick said that Gil just left after that," Sara finished.

"Would it have made a difference?" Dr. Young inquired.

"I don't know. Maybe," Sara responded, as she picked out a new place to stare at on the office rug. "I think that it would have made a difference to Connor. He just wants some stability in his life. He wants to know that his parents love him enough that they're not going to leave him again."

"That's understandable."

"I know."

"Do you need that as well?"

"What, stability?" Sara asked, looking up again. Dr. Young nodded in response. Sara shrugged as she admitted, "Stability is always nice."

"You haven't had a lot of that in you're life, have you?"

"No. I guess I haven't."

"Tell me. How many different foster homes did you live in as a child?"

"Five. Six. Seven. I don't know. I lost count after awhile."

"Did you ever feel loved in any of them?"

"Not really."

"How did you feel?"

"At most, tolerated."

"How do you feel now?"

"Pretty much the same way."

"Have you thought about ways to change that feeling?"

"Sure. Some days it's all that I think about. I could take the kids and go back to LA. I could stay here and get my own place. I could go back home, maybe talk Gil into marriage counseling."

"Do you think that he would agree to counseling?"

"He suggested it to me once, when he first came back, but I said no."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I guess because I'm already in therapy. No offense, but coming here every week isn't the easiest thing in the world for me."

"It's not supposed to be easy, Sara. If it was, it would be called chatting, not therapy."

"I suppose."

"Was there any other reason that you turned Gil down?"

Sara thought about the question for a minute. "I, um, I guess I did it for him."

"How so?"

"Gil isn't exactly someone who likes to open up about his feelings. He barely shares them with me, and I'm his wife. I couldn't imagine him doing that with a total stranger, and I didn't want him to resent me for making him go, so I let him off the hook."

"If you had accepted his offer, do you think that he would have gone?"

"Probably at first, and then after a few sessions he probably would have just found some excuse to skip or reschedule. Ecklie called him back to the lab. An interrogation ran late. He was waiting on some lab results. He had a migraine. Something."

"Do you think that he would do the same thing now?"

"Well, it's only been a week, a week and a half, since he made the offer. That's not exactly a lot of time to make a fundamental change in one's personality."

"True, but it could be enough time to make small changes that will eventually lead to bigger ones. Have you noticed any small changes in Gil?"

Sara shrugged. "I don't know if I would call them changes per se. He has done a few things that have surprised me."

"Like what?"

"Like picking up Connor from school. Taking care of Ava. Sending me flowers for my birthday. The bike trip Saturday."

"Why did those things surprise you?"

"Because they seemed out of character for him."

"How so?"

"Well, the one and only time that I have ever known him to publicly put our relationship on display was when I was laying under a car in the desert, and I think that was more of a slip up than intentional."

"You don't count your wedding as a public display of affection?"

Sara shook her head. "We had a quickie wedding on the Strip without any of our friends or family present. Then we didn't tell anyone about it for months. Granted, it was my idea initially to keep the marriage quiet, but Gil didn't seem to have a problem with it. Now I know why: Heather."

"What about Gil's interaction with the children. How is that out of character?"

"I just never thought that he would be good with children or that he'd be able to relate to them. I mean I know that he likes children. The only time that I have ever seen him nearly lose it at work was when a case involved a child, but I always assumed that his reaction in those cases had more to do with him wanting to help the helpless than it did with some innate desire to be a father."

"Do you consider his reaction differently now?"

"Sometimes, when I see him holding Ava or playing a game with Connor, I think that he really does want to be a father. Then something happens, and I think that he's just doing those things because he feels that he has to, not because he wants to. I mean, all my son wanted was to hear that his father loved him, and Gil couldn't even give him that much. He just left without saying a word."

"What do you want?"

"I want my children to never question whether they are loved."

"I meant in regards to you. What do you want for you?"

"I don't know. Every time I think that I have it figured out, I realize that I don't have a clue. I was kind of hoping that you would tell me what I should want or what I should do next."

"That's not my job, Sara. My job is to help you figure out the answer for yourself."

"I thought it was to help me turn my negative thoughts into positive ones."

"That, too."

"Well right now my negative thoughts have me bouncing all over the place. One minute I want to stay in Vegas. The next I want to disappear."

"Look, Sara, I want you to do something for me between now and next week."

"Let me guess. You want me to write draw all of my negative feelings this time, in which case I should probably tell now that I'm not the most artistic person in the world. My brother is the one who got those genes in our family."

Dr. Young laughed. "No, I don't want you to draw your feelings. What I would like for you to do is write down any thoughts that you have as to what you should do next, when you had them, and why you thought that was the choice at the time. Then we'll discuss those choices next week and maybe together we'll be able to figure out which one will be the best for you."

"I was hoping that we or I anyway would be able to make a decision a little sooner than that."

"I can understand that, Sara, but right now it's probably best if you avoid making any rash decisions."

"I suppose," Sara reluctantly agreed with the doctor's assessment.

"Do you have somewhere to stay? You said that you were staying with Nick Stokes, right?"

"Right."

"Do you think that he would be okay with you and the kids staying a few more days?"

"As far as I know. If not, I'm sure that we could stay with Greg or Warrick. They both offered to let us, but they only have one bedroom apartments while Nick has a two bedroom so I figured that we would be less of a burden to him. Most people are okay with sleeping on the sofa for a few days but not on a long term basis."

"So then there's no reason for you to make any immediate decisions, is there?"

"No, I suppose there's not."

"Then you agree that it's probably best that you take the time to consider all of your options?"

"Yes," Sara said reluctantly. "I agree."

"Good. Then I'll see you next week."

* * *

"Well, it's about time!" Catherine exclaimed, as Sara walked out of the building that housed Dr. Young's office. "Don't you ever answer your phone anymore?"

Sara, seeing Catherine leaning against her car and one of the lab's SUV's blocking her in, froze beside the door. "Well this can't be good," she mumbled to herself before walking over to Catherine. "I'm not allowed to have my phone on during a session. What do you want?" she asked.

"I want to be home, asleep in a warm bed. Ecklie, on the other hand, wants me to go process a 419 out at Centennial Hills, and you're the only CSI available to go with me."

Sara checked her watch before asking, "Isn't that the day shift's job?"

"You would think, but apparently Ecklie doesn't require them to work anymore."

"Well, can't you take someone else? I'm sure Ronnie would jump at the chance to process a 419."

"She's still with Gil at the scene on Fremont."

"What about Greg or Nick?"

"They're finishing up the scene that you left so that you could come here. That just leaves you and Warrick, and Ecklie isn't going to let me take Warrick, which means that I'm stuck with you."

"Well, don't sound so thrilled about it."

"I'll try not to," Catherine said sarcastically. "Grab your kit out of the trunk, and let's go."

Sara shook her head, as she watched Catherine climb into the driver's seat of the SUV. She would rather endure another hour of therapy than have to spend the next few hours with Catherine. Before she could get the trunk open, Catherine rolled down the window and yelled, "Sometime today, Sara!"

Sara opened the Prius's trunk, grabbed her case, closed the trunk, and turned to Catherine. "I'm coming," she said with a smirk.

"Well, can you come a little faster? They've been waiting on us for nearly an hour as is."

Sara walked around to the passenger door, opened it, and climbed. "Is this fast enough for you?" she asked. Catherine didn't answer her. She just started the car and began to drive towards the entrance to the parking lot. Sara, shaking her head again, fished her phone out of her bag. She then dialed Rachel's cell phone number. When the nanny answered, Sara said, "Rachel, it's Sara. It looks like I'm going to have to work late. Can you watch Ava until Nick gets home? …Good. If he doesn't get there before school lets out, you'll have to pick up Connor. …Great. Thanks, Rachel. I owe you one."

Sara returned the phone to her bag and then slouched down in the passenger's seat. Leaning her head against the window and closing her eyes, she let her mind drift to other matters.

"_Hey, Mom. You're awake," Connor stated from the doorway to his uncle's guest bedroom._

"_Hey, baby," Sara responded, sitting up in bed. "Yeah, I woke up not long after you and Cameron left."_

_Connor walked over to Sara and handed her the rolled up, red and white paper bag that he had been holding. "I brought you some popcorn back from the movies," he told her._

"_Thank you," Sara said, taking the bag. "Was the movie good?"_

"_Uh-huh. The chipmunks were so funny. Can we put their songs on the iPod that Santa brought me later?"_

"_Sure we can."_

"_I wish you could have gone with us."_

"_So do I. I just haven't been feeling so great lately. That's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about."_

"_Are you going to have to go back to the hospital?"_

"_No, sweetie, I'm not."_

"_Then what's wrong?"_

"_You know how I've been throwing up a lot lately."_

_Connor nodded. "You said you had the flu."_

"_That's right; I did, but as it turns, it wasn't the flu. It was something called morning sickness."_

"_Morning sickness?" Connor repeated. "But you've been throwing up in the afternoon and at night, too."_

"_I know. The name is kind of confusing. You can actually have morning sickness when it's not morning."_

_Connor put a hand over his mouth and nose and took a step back from Sara. "Am I going to catch it? I hate throwing up."_

"_No, you're not."_

"_How do you know?"_

"_Because morning sickness isn't contagious, Connor, and it's only something women can get."_

"_How come?" Connor asked, as he dropped his hand and moved back towards Sara._

"_Because only women can have babies."_

"_Mom, I told you I'm too old to be a baby."_

"_I know. I actually wasn't talking about you this time. I was talking about a different baby."_

"_Which one?"_

"_The one that I'm going to have."_

"_Where is it? Did the stork bring it while I was gone? I want to see the stork."_

"_No, sweetie. The stork didn't come."_

"_Well, when is he coming?"_

"_He's not."_

"_Then how are you going to get a baby? Dad said that's where babies come from. He said a stork flies in the window and leaves the baby on the bed."_

"_He said that, huh?"_

_Connor nodded again. "Uh-huh."_

"_Um, Michael wasn't exactly telling you the truth, Connor."_

"_He wasn't?"_

"_No."_

"_Then where do babies come from?"_

"_Well, right now this one is coming from my tummy."_

_Connor squinted, as he looked at Sara's stomach. "Your tummy?" he asked. "How did the baby get in there? Did you swallow it?"_

_Sara, laughing at Connor's last question, answered, "No. I didn't swallow the baby."_

"_Then how did it get in there?"_

"_Well that's kind of complicated, but all you need to know right now is that in a few months you're going to have a little brother or sister to play with."_

_Connor looked at his mother's stomach again. "It's got to be really little to be in your stomach."_

"_It is. Right now the baby is only about this big," Sara said, as she measured the length with her fingers._

"_That's not very big."_

"_You're right. It's not. It's only about three inches."_

"_Well, how am I going to play with something that small? I might break it."_

"_The baby is not going to be that small when it's born. It's going to grow inside my tummy until it's about this big," Sara explained, using her hands to measure the length of a newborn. "That means pretty soon my tummy is going to get real big, and in a few weeks you'll be able to feel it kick."_

"_How will I do that?"_

"_Well, you'll put your hand on my stomach, just like this," Sara said, taking Connor's hand and placing it on her stomach. "Then you'll be able to feel its feet kicking against your hand."_

"_Cool. Did I do that?"_

"_Did you do what?"_

"_Kick your hand."_

"_All the time. Sometimes you did it so much I thought that you might have a soccer ball in there."_

"_Well, I do like soccer," Connor responded sheepishly. "Did I hurt you?"_

"_No, never," she stated, squeezing his hand._

"_Good."_

"_Connor, there's one more thing. I, um, I'm going to have to go back to Vegas and tell your father about the baby and about you."_

"_Okay. When are we going, tomorrow?"_

"_No, not tomorrow. In a couple of days, but you're not going with me."_

_Connor yanked his hand away from Sara and backed towards the door. "I knew you were leaving again! I knew it! You always leave me!" he shouted. _

_Sara got up from the bed and took Connor by the arms. "No, I am not leaving you."_

"_But you just said that you were going without me."_

"_Just for a few days, just so I can talk to your father."_

"_But why can't I go with you?" Connor asked, as he began to cry._

"_Because Gil is probably going to be really mad at me for keeping you a secret, and I don't want you to see us fight."_

"_I thought you said he wasn't like Dad."_

"_He's not."_

"_Then why does it matter if I see you fight?"_

"_Because you've seen enough fights to last you a lifetime, and I don't want you to see anymore." Sara tried to wipe the tears from Connor's cheeks, but he jerked away from her and backed into the corner of the bedroom. Sara sighed before she continued. "Look, Connor, it's just going to be for a few days, and then I'm coming right back. In the meantime, you get to stay here with your Uncle Ritchie and Cameron. I bet if you ask nicely, they'll take you to the Santa Monica pier and let you ride all the rides."_

_Connor crossed his arms in anger and stated resolutely, "I don't want to go to the pier. I want to go with you."_

"_I know, but you can't."_

"_Please," he pleaded._

"_No."_

"_Why?"_

"_I already told you why."_

"_Yeah, and it's a stupid reason."_

"_Then how about because I said so?"_

"_Well, that's a stupid reason, too."_

"_You're right. It kind of is. My mom used to say that all the time to me when I was your age, and I thought it was stupid then, too."_

"_Then let me go with you."_

"_I can't." Sara walked over to Connor and kneeled in front of him. Talking hold of his arms again, she said, "Look, Connor, it's only going to be for a few days, and then I promise you that I will come back for you, but you're going to have to promise me that you're not going to do something stupid like running away or taking a bus to Vegas."_

_Connor, looking embarrassed that his mother knew his secret, said, "I guess that means Cammie told you."_

"_No, she told your Uncle Ritchie, and Ritchie told me."_

"_I just wanted to see you."_

"_I know you did, but running away is never the answer. It's a very dangerous world out there. Someone could have taken you."_

"_Like that bad lady who took you and stuck you under that car?"_

_Sara frowned, as she realized that Richard had been correct when he said that Connor knew about Natalie. "Right, like the bad lady who took me."_

"_What if she tries to take you again?"_

"_She won't, Connor."_

"_How do you know?"_

"_Because she's in a mental hospital, and she can't get out."_

"_But what if she does?"_

"_She won't. I'm going to be fine, Connor, and I'm going to be back, I promise."_

"_Pinky promise?" Connor asked._

_Sara held up her right pinky. "Pinky promise," she answered. After Connor linked his right pinky with hers, Sara pulled him towards her and hugged him. "You're never going to have to worry about whether I am going to come back for you ever again."_

"Are you just going to sit there and sulk?" Catherine asked irately. "You know, you're not too good to work a double just like everyone else. I never got a free pass with Lindsey. I don't know why you think that your kids suddenly earn you one."

Sara sat up straight and looked over at her boss. "Did you hear me say that, Catherine? Did you hear me say anything other than, 'Rachel, I have to work late. Can you please watch Ava until Nick gets home?"

"No, but I can read between the lines."

"What, like you read between the lines Monday morning?"

"I didn't have to read between anything, Sara. You and Warrick had it all laid right out in the open, no pun intended."

Sara sighed in frustration. "I'm only going to say this one more time. Warrick and I slept in the same bed, but we did not have sex. Nothing happened."

"Uh-huh," Catherine muttered.

"Oh, come on, Catherine. You and I both know that Warrick is not the type of man who would take advantage of a drunk woman, no matter how mad he is at his girlfriend. I also know that, unlike some other people in this car, he's not the type of person who cheats."

"I didn't cheat on Warrick."

"Then tell him that, not me."

"I have."

"Then tell him again because I'm not your problem. You are." Sara glanced up, as a horn blared behind them. "The light is green," she told Catherine.

"I see that," Catherine responded.

"Well, do you plan on going, or do you just want to sit here until the next light?"

"I'm going," Catherine answered, as she released the brake and moved into the intersection. "You know I'm perfectly capable of dri--"

The rest of her statement was cut off by the sound of screeching brakes and broken glass.

* * *

Grissom opened the front door of the townhouse and went inside. Although Sara and the kids had been gone for three days, the almost suffocating silence that now permeated every room in their absence still managed to shock him. Not even Hank could manage to get off of his dog bed in the corner to greet him.

Grissom grabbed Hank's leash, walked into the living room, and looked at the dog. "Do you want to go out, boy?" he asked the boxer. Hank opened his eyes, growled, and then closed them. "I'll take that as a no. What did you do, relieve yourself in the middle of the bed again?" Grissom didn't have to go upstairs to get the answer to that question. The odor of feces was distant but discernable.

Grissom tossed the leash onto the coffee table but made no immediate move to clean up the excrement. Instead, he stretched out on the sofa, closed his eyes, and thought about the events that had gotten him to this place. They had all started with a knock on the door, a knock that he knew now he should have never answered.

"_What are you doing here?" Grissom asked, when he saw who was standing on his doorstep. Ava, who also seemed to recognize the person, began to cry._

"_I thought maybe we could talk," Heather answered._

"_I don't think that's such a good idea," Grissom said, as Ava's cries turned into wails._

"_Why? Because of Sara?"_

"_Yes, because of Sara."_

"_I called the lab, Gil. I know that Sara is still out in the field. I'll be gone before she ever even knows that I'm here."_

"_I don't know."_

"_Given the way that you treated me the last time that I was here, I think that you do."_

_Grissom sighed and, against his better judgment, opened the door wider, allowing Heather to come inside. As Grissom followed Heather into the living room, Ava's wails turned into full-blown screams. "Shh," Grissom whispered, as he rubbed small circles on Ava's back. The little girl, however, refused to be soothed by the motion. "Sorry about the crying," Grissom apologized to Heather. "The rubbing always seems to work for Sara, and yet it doesn't seem to be working for me."_

"_Have you tried a warm bath or driving her around the block?"_

"_Do those things actually work?"_

"_Like a charm, or at least they did with Zoey."_

"_I'll have to try them later. I think that she's just sleepy. It's past her bedtime."_

"_Maybe you should go put her down then."_

"_Yeah, maybe I should. I'll be right back." Grissom left to put Ava in her crib. When he returned, he found Heather crossing and uncrossing her legs on the sofa. Rather than sit next to her, he chose to stand, keeping the coffee table safely between them. "Look, Heather. I'll admit that I don't like the way we left things."_

"_Neither do I."_

"_But that night should have never had happened. I should have never started drinking. I should have never let you in, and I certainly should have never slept with you."_

"_I agree. You know, I once chastised my daughter for sleeping with a married man. It would be hypocritical of me to now suggest that it's okay for me to do the same. Still, I sometimes wonder…" _

"_Wonder what?"_

"_What it would be like for us if there were no Sara," Heather answered, crossing her legs again. "Don't you ever wonder that?"_

"_No, never."_

_Heather let the fingers on her right hand trail slowly over the exposed skin above her knee. Grissom watched her fingers move, but his expression seemed to suggest that he was more annoyed by the gesture than intrigued. "Not even once?" she asked, as her fingers hung on the hem of her skirt, moving it up another inch._

_Grissom allowed his gaze to move from Heather's fingers to her eyes. "Not even once. For me, there is only Sara."_

_Heather uncrossed her legs, smoothed the hem on her skirt, and stood up. "Good answer. Just make sure you tell your wife that when she comes home." Heather walked over to Grissom and rubbed her hand against his cheek. "Goodbye, Gil," she whispered and then kissed him._

_Grissom did not realize that they had company until he heard the cursing from the entryway. Knowing immediately that the voice belonged to his wife, Grissom pushed away from Heather but found that he was already too late._

Grissom opened his eyes as the knocking began again. He looked over at Hank, who was growling from his dog bed. "Sorry, boy, but I'm not getting it this time."

Five minutes later, when the knocking had turned into the uninterrupted ring of the doorbell, Grissom finally got up from the sofa and answered the door. This time, however, he was not greeted by the familiar face of a Las Vegas dominatrix but of a police captain.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked Jim Brass.

"Yes, it was," Brass answered. "Gil, there's been an accident."

* * *

**A/N: Sorry about the angst in this chapter. I know that the majority of you don't like angst, but I didn't like the office scene in "The Happy Place," nor did I like "Leave Out All the Rest," so I had to work out my frustrations somehow. I'll fix the angst in the next chapter**.


	88. Chapter 88

**A/N: I'm sorry for how long it has taken me to update this story, but I've had a lot going on lately that hasn't given me a lot of time to write. I had my house on the market for 14 months, and towards the end of the listing I had to slash the price in half. Once I did, my house ended up getting shown a lot, sometimes once or twice a day. After awhile, it seemed like all I was ever doing was preparing for a showing or waiting on a showing to be through. Writing a fan fic had to take second place to making sure the furniture was dusted, the dishes were clean, the bed was made, and the carpet didn't reek of pee.**

**My mother also died unexpectedly at the end of April. Her insurance wasn't enough to pay off her house, so I ended up spending about two months back in my hometown helping my sister pack up my mom's things and catering to my nephew's every whim. I had very little computer access for the first month, and during the second month my computer use was limited to whatever video game my nephew was telling me to play.**

**However, even if those things had not happened, I honestly just needed to take a break from the whole CSI fandom. It can be rather draining at times, especially when it comes to just how overly critical some factions of it can be, and I don't just mean in terms of writing fan fiction. **

**On that subject, I'm just going to say this. If you're one of those people who find me stiff and blunt and who will only tolerate me if I add LOL and ha-ha at the end of everything I say, then you probably shouldn't be reading this story. It's all together possible that in writing this chapter and future chapters that I will continue to be stiff and blunt or that I will make Sara or some other character stiff and blunt, and I know that offends your delicate sensibilities. It's also all together possible that I may interject sarcasm into the story without adding LOL or ha-ha after it. Thus, certain plot points or dialogue may go completely over your heads. I'm sure that there are plenty of unblunt, unstiff, unsarcastic stories out there that you can choose from.**

**And, yes, before anyone says so in a comment, I know that I'm being stiff and blunt right now, but I figure at this point I might as well live up to my reputation. That being said, for the five people who don't find me offensive and recently PM'd me about updating, here is your update, all 57 pages worth. Hopefully, at least the five of you will enjoy it.**

* * *

"For the hundredth time, I'm fine. Will everyone just stop fussing over me already and go see about my friend?" Catherine asked the nurse who was strapping the blood pressure cuff on her arm. It was the third time that a nurse had checked her blood pressure in the last thirty minutes. If her blood pressure wasn't elevated when she was brought into the ER, it sure was now.

"Mrs. Willows," the nurse began, as she pumped the rubber bulb, inflating the cuff.

"_Ms._ Willows," Catherine corrected.

"_Ms._ Willows, as I have told you before, we have people who are looking after your friend. Now let us look after you." The nurse released the bulb slowly, letting air escape as she tried to listen to Catherine's heartbeat over the onslaught of complaints.

"And as I've told you before, there is nothing to look after. I'm fine. I have some cuts and some bruises, and I'm probably not going to be able to move tomorrow, but otherwise I am fine. Now can I please go?"

The nurse noted the reading on her chart before removing the cuff from her arm. "Not until we get your test results back."

"And how much longer is that going to be?"

"The results should be back any minute now. Please just try to be patient."

"Patience isn't exactly her strongest virtue," Warrick stated from the doorway.

"So I've noticed," the nurse mumbled under her breath before leaving the room.

"Warrick, what are you doing here?" Catherine asked, surprised by his sudden appearance.

"Brass called. He said that you and Sara had been in an accident."

"Yeah, some drunk driver ran a red light and smashed into us. How is Sara? They won't tell me anything."

Warrick started towards the examination table but then stopped, as if he had finally remembered that he and Catherine were on the outs. "Ronnie said they're taking her into surgery."

Catherine, who had noticed Warrick's sudden hesitation, tried to pretend that she had not as she asked, "What for?"

"Her spleen. Apparently there was damage from the wreck."

"Her spleen...She was complaining that her stomach was hurting in the car, but I just though it was from the seat belt tightening. Are they going to have to remove it?"

"Ronnie said that they don't know yet. They're hoping that they can just repair the damage, but if they can't..."

Catherine looked around the room, trying to find where the nurse had put her phone. "Has anyone called Gil?"

"Ronnie and Brass both tried. He wouldn't answer, so Brass has gone to get him."

"Good," Catherine responded, as she finally located the phone on the tray table across the room. "What about Nick and Greg?"

"Ronnie said that they're just waiting for Ecklie to send someone from days or swing to replace them, then they're on their way."

"What about our scene? Ecklie said that no one was available from days."

"I don't know. I guess he's calling in swing for that as well."

"Okay, so that's handled. What about Sara's brother? Richard? Ritchie? Has anyone called him yet?"

"I don't know. I didn't think to ask."

"It's okay. I'll do it. I don't have his number, but I can probably just call the main line at the LAPD and get patched through. I just have to get my phone."

"Catherine, you were just in an accident. Let someone else handle it."

"I don't mind."

"I know, and I'm sure Sara would appreciate the fact that you're trying to handle everything for her, but she'd want you to take care of yourself, too."

"I'm fine," Catherine protested.

"So you keep saying, but why don't we wait for the test results to confirm that fact before you go charging into the waiting room and start micromanaging everything?"

"Okay, okay," Catherine said, throwing up her hands in surrender. Both she and Warrick remained quiet for a few minutes. Catherine finally broke the silence by saying, "This is so surreal. One minute we were fighting about you. The next minute..."

Warrick sighed. "Catherine, nothing happened between me and Sara."

"I know that now. I was just angry, and I let my anger skew my judgment."

"I know the feeling," Warrick admitted, thinking back to the night at the hotel.

"In the car she kept telling me to leave her, to save myself and forget about her."

"Did you?"

"No. I stayed with her."

"That's good. At least she wasn't alone."

"She'll be okay, right?"

"Who, Sara? She'll be fine. I have no doubts that Sara will probably outlast us all."

"Just in case, I should probably be out there. Gil might need me." Catherine slid off the end of the examining table, but her knees buckled as she attempted to stand up. Warrick, seeing that she was about to fall, quickly closed the distance between them and caught her before she hit the floor.

"Whoa," Warrick said, as he helped her straighten back up. "I told you we should wait for the results."

"I'm fine," Catherine once again declared. "I just didn't get to eat breakfast before Ecklie called me in."

"Right...Just the same, you're going to sit here until the doctor comes back in and tells you that you can leave."

Catherine shook her head as she said, "Fine. Whatever," and allowed Warrick to guide her back onto the table.

Approximately 10 minutes later, Catherine's doctor arrived with the test results. Catherine, frustrated by how long she had been required to wait, crossed her arms and glared at the doctor. "Well, it's about time," she told the doctor. "Now can you please tell him and everyone else that I'm okay?"

The doctor looked up from her charts. "She's okay," he told Warrick. "In fact, they both are."

"Sara's out of surgery?" Catherine asked.

The doctor look confused by Catherine's question. "Who's Sara?"

"Sara Grissom. She was brought in at the same time as me."

"I'm not sure about her. I'll have to check."

"But you just said that we'll both be okay."

"I was actually talking about you and your baby."

"My what?" Catherine asked, at the same time that Warrick said, "What did you just say?"

"Your baby. You're pregnant."

Catherine held up her hands in protest. "No. That's...that's impossible," she stammered.

"I assure you that it's quite possible," the doctor replied, looking down at Catherine's charts. "In fact, we ran the test twice just to make sure."

"Then run it a third time because there is no way that I'm pregnant. I am 45 years old. I have a 17 year old daughter at home. I cannot be pregnant."

"But you are. Of course, at your age there is a higher risk of complications, but as long as you take care of yourself and follow your doctor's orders, I see no reason why you can't have anything but a perfectly normal pregnancy."

"That's not what I meant," Catherine mumbled.

"I'm going to write you a prescription for prenatal vitamins. Of course, I recommend that you make an appointment with your OB-GYN as soon as possible, as he or she may want you on something else and you can discuss any concerns you have about the pregnancy at that time. If I were you, I would also take it easy for the next couple of days." The doctor scribbled something onto his prescription pad, tore the top piece of paper off, and handed it to Catherine. "You're free to go."

Catherine, shell-shocked, stared down at the piece of paper. "Did that just happen?" she asked Warrick as soon as the doctor had left the room. When Warrick didn't answer, Catherine finally looked up from the prescription and over at him.

"Is it mine?" Warrick inquired.

"Yes. Of course, it's yours. How could you even ask me that?"

"How could I not?" he asked.

When Catherine failed to answer, Warrick left the room as well.

* * *

The smell was making him nauseous. It never ceased to amaze Grissom that, no matter how clean and sterile the hospital environment, the vague odor of urine still remained in the air. Given his profession, the smell should not have bothered him, and, under any other circumstances, he would have found it to be a minor annoyance. However, given today's circumstances, given the fact that his wife was laying on a table upstairs, having her spleen removed, while he sat down here, powerless to help, he found the odor nothing short of sickening.

Over the last hour, other members of the team and the LVPD had trickled in, as news of Catherine and Sara's accident had spread throughout the department. While he appreciated their support, both their faces and well wishes had become a blur, mere background noise to questions he could not answer, to the thoughts that had preoccupied him since opening the door. What if something went wrong during the operation? What if Sara didn't make it? What would he tell Connor and Ava? How would he raise them alone?

"I thought you could use this," Catherine said, as she slipped a paper cup into his hand and momentarily interrupted his thoughts.

"Vending machine coffee?" Grissom asked, staring down at the brown liquid.

"It beats the stuff at the lab."

Grissom took a sip and grimaced. "Not by much," he commented, as he placed the cup on the coffee table closest to him.

Sitting down next to him, Catherine inquired, "How are you holding up?"

Grissom shrugged. "As well as can be expected."

"She's going to be okay."

"That's what everyone keeps telling me." Grissom looked over at Catherine and stated, "I thought you would have gone home by now."

"I'm not leaving. I plan on sitting right here until either the hospital or Sara kicks me out."

"Have you seen a doctor yet?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Catherine hesitated before answering, "And I'm fine. You know me. I'm like a Timex watch. I can take a licking and keep on ticking."

Grissom smiled for a moment and then, as if remembering where he was, stopped. Staring off into the distance, he asked, "How do we keep ending up here, Catherine?"

"Is that a rhetorical question, or do you really want an answer?"

"I don't know. I just keep thinking about how many times over the last few years we've sat in this very room, waiting for a doctor to come out and tell us that someone we care about didn't make it, and how many of those times that the doctor came out and told us the exact opposite."

"We've been lucky, Gil."

"Which is what I'm worried about. You and I have both lived in this town long enough to know that the odds are always in favor of the house. Sooner or later, our luck is going to run out."

"That doesn't mean it has to be today."

"But what if it does, Catherine? People die on the operating table every day. What if that happens today? What if Sara dies? What am I supposed to do then? What are my kids supposed to do?"

"You shouldn't be thinking about those things."

"Then what should I be thinking about? Please, tell me, because right now all I can think about is if Sara doesn't make it, I'm going to have to go home and tell my son that his mother is never coming back. He already has abandonment issues. If Sara dies..."

"Sara is not going to die," Catherine stated resolutely.

Grissom, however, seemed not to hear Catherine as he continued, "And what about Ava? My daughter is only five months old, Catherine. If Sara dies, she's not even going to remember her a few years from now. She'll just be a picture in a frame."

"I'm sure you won't let that happen."

"But what if I do? You've said it yourself time and time again. I'm not a people person, so how am I supposed to raise two kids alone? When I first got back, I could not even change a diaper correctly without having an eight year old walk me through it."

"But you learned."

"Yes, I learned after about the tenth diaper fell on the floor."

"So you'll learn everything else as well."

"But life doesn't always give you ten chances to get something right. What am I supposed to do then?"

"Then you let your family help you." Catherine slipped her hand in Grissom's and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Look around, Gil. People person or not, you're not alone. Neither is Sara."

Grissom, who never felt more alone, merely sighed in response. Catherine, however, wouldn't be deterred. "Do you want me to prove it to you? Okay. How about this? Immediately after the accident, Sara and I smelled gas. My first thought was to get us both out of there before the car blew up, but Sara's legs were pinned down and I couldn't get them unstuck. She kept telling me to leave her."

"Did you?"

"No, not even after the paramedics tried to drag me out. Sara and I may fight like cats and dogs sometimes--"

"Sometimes?" Grissom asked, raising one eyebrow.

"Okay, more than sometimes lately, but I would never leave her alone, not like that. I would like to think that, had the situation been reversed, had I been the one stuck in that car, she wouldn't have left me alone either."

"She wouldn't have."

"So what makes you think that she's going to leave you and the kids alone? Sara is a survivor, Gil. She's survived a lot worse. She'll survive this."

"I hope so."

"I know so, so drink your bad coffee and snap out of it because if you're still talking like this when Sara gets out of surgery, you're going to really piss her off."

* * *

"Hey, how's Sara?" Greg asked, as he and Nick approached Warrick outside the ER.

Warrick glanced up from his own cup of bad coffee and replied, "She's still in surgery."

"How's Catherine?" Nick asked.

"Better than Sara," Warrick answered, as he returned his gaze to the coffee.

"What does that mean exactly?"

"It means that she's a little banged up, Nick. Can we just leave it at that for now?"

"Hey, I was just asking," Nick responded defensively.

"I know. I'm sorry, man. It's just been a rough day."

"Is that why you're out here?" Greg inquired.

Warrick placed his coffee cup beside him on the bench and leaned back against the stucco wall. Closing his eyes, he said, "I needed some fresh air."

"I can understand that. I spent one too many days in there myself," Greg responded, as he glanced over at the double automatic doors.

"I think we all have," Nick added.

The three men stood in silence for a few minutes. Greg was the first to break it. "Okay, then. Well, I'm going to go in and see if Grissom needs anything. Are you guys coming?"

Nick answered, "We'll be there in a minute." Once Greg had disappeared inside, he turned to Warrick. "So do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Warrick asked, opening his eyes.

"The real reason you're out here."

Warrick sighed. "Maybe later, Nick. Right now I just need some time by myself."

"Okay, but if you change your mind and you want to talk, you know where to find me."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Enjoy your coffee." When Warrick grimaced at the suggestion, Nick chuckled. "That bad?"

"Let's just say that I think the hospital and the lab buy their coffee from the same supplier."

"Nice. Maybe I'll pull rank and send Greg on a coffee run later."

"I'm sure he'd appreciate that."

"He'll get over it."

"Have you met Greg?"

* * *

Sara was out of surgery.

Grissom sat down beside her hospital bed and took her right hand in his, the way he had so many months before. As he peered at his wife's sleeping countenance, her face blemished by cuts inflicted by the SUV's glass and bruises from the passenger side air bag, he experienced the distinct sense of deja vu, a feeling of familiarity that only made him squeeze her hand tighter.

_She had not opened her eyes since the helicopter. Everyone assured him that it was to be expected, given what she had been through. The diagnoses, a cyclone of terms that even a layman could understand the gravity of, continued to rotate through his mind as he held her right hand. Heat stroke. Dehydration. Concussion. Multiple fractures and contusions. Even now, hours after Nick had first spotted the speck of light reflecting off the Mustang's broken side mirror, he knew that she was still at risk, that despite their best efforts to find her, despite the determination that she had shown in escaping the car, despite the cooling blankets, ice packs, and intravenous fluids, her organs could still succumb to the effects of the desert heat._

_As Grissom tightened his grip around Sara's hand, he could feel his mother's rosary beads pushing against his palm. Catherine had placed them beside him an hour earlier while giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I figured they couldn't hurt," she had said softly, before returning to the waiting room down the hall where the rest of the team stood vigil._

_Although he had not practiced the Catholic devotion in years, Grissom had found himself reaching for the beads and wrapping them around his left hand, silently reciting from memory the prayers that his mother had taught him decades before. A short time later he had abandoned the words but not the rosary, as he had found the feel of them reassuring against his palm._

_The beads shifted in his hand, slightly at first, then with more force. Grissom opened his hands and watched as Sara's fingers moved against his own. He then turned his gaze to the pale face that was now marred by small cuts and bruises, battle scars from the night she had endured. "Sara?" he inquired._

_Sara answered with a soft moan and a flutter of eyelashes. Grissom stood up from his chair, placed his mother's rosary beads on the night stand, and then sat facing Sara on the hospital bed. He noticed that a stray strand of hair, a curly lock that he knew she had painstakingly straightened some 24 hours before, had fallen across one eye. He reached for the curl and gently tucked it behind Sara's right ear before questioning her again, "Sara?"_

_This time Sara's eyes opened fully and focused on him. "Hi," he said, smiling._

_She attempted to smile back but winced when the movement irritated the cuts and bruises. "Hi," she managed to say in a scratchy voice before wincing again and reaching with her right hand for her throat._

"_Here, let me get you some water," Grissom offered, standing up. Sara gave a small nod before Grissom hurried over to the pitcher of water on the rolling cart, poured her a cup, grabbed a straw, and brought both the cup and the straw back to the bed. He placed the straw in the cup and held it up to Sara's lips. "Here, drink," he directed._

_Sara sipped from the straw for a minute before telling Grissom, "Thanks." While Grissom placed the cup on the side table, Sara's eyes darted around the hospital room, taking in her new surroundings. Only when Grissom sat back down did they finally still. "You found me," she stated._

"_Well, I can't take all the credit," Grissom responded._

"_I wasn't sure," Sara said, her voice trailing off as she moved her gaze to the IV bags hanging from the pole next to the bed. She paused for a moment and then asked, "Natalie?"_

"_We found her, too."_

"_Good." When Sara turned back to him, Grissom noted that her eyes seemed sad. Attributing the sadness to fatigue and stress rather than genuine melancholy, Grissom reached out and stroked her cheek in an attempt to comfort her. Sara closed her eyes in response._

"_I'm sorry," she muttered._

"_For what?" Grissom asked, lowering his hand._

"_I should have stayed with the car."_

"_No, you needed to get to higher ground. You did the right thing."_

"_Did I?" she asked, as she broke eye contact._

_Grissom, perplexed by the question, rubbed her hand and tried to reassure her. "You did everything you could."_

_Sara shrugged and looked down at their hands. "How long have you been here?" she inquired._

"_A few hours," Grissom confessed._

_Sara pulled her hand from his. "You should probably go then before anyone gets suspicious."_

"_It's okay."_

"_No, it's not. We've been through this before. If Ecklie finds out about us, you could lose your job. We both could."_

"_I'm sure by now Conrad already knows."_

"_What?" Sara asked, looking up._

"_Some things kind of came out while we were trying to find you," Grissom admitted sheepishly._

"_Great..." Sara mumbled, as she stared at the door, half-expecting Ecklie to walk in with a pink slip in hand._

"_Look, Sara, don't let it worry you. I can handle Conrad. It will be okay. Everything is going to be okay."_

"_You say that now." Grissom, again puzzled by Sara's words, silently watched her turn her attention from the door to the thin, white sheet that covered her. After a few minutes of picking at a stray thread, she took a deep breath and said, "Gil, there's, uh, there's something I need to tell you."_

_Before she could tell him what that something was, someone knocked lightly on the door. Sara looked up and Grissom turned towards the source of the knock to find Catherine, Warrick, Greg, and Nick standing in the doorway. "You're awake," Greg proclaimed. He walked into the room, the others following him._

"_That I am," Sara responded. _

_Grissom turned back to her and noted that she was now smiling. Taking the smile as a sign that she was feeling better, he failed to ask her what that something was sometime later, when the team had left and it was just the two of them again. She was alive. That was the only something he needed to know._

Catherine was right; he needed to snap out of it. She was alive now. He knew that people got their spleens removed every day and went on to live long, healthy lives. Sara was going to do the same. She was going to wake up, and they would either go back to fighting about Heather or they would try to work things out. Which one wasn't so important to him anymore. He could live with either outcome so long as she did, in fact, live. As for the alternative, that he could not fathom.

He did not have to think about the alternative for long, as Sara opened her eyes a few minutes later and looked at him.

"Hiii," she said, her voice slightly slurred from the effects of the anesthesia.

"Hi, yourself," Grissom replied. Temporarily pushing his worries aside, he smiled at her and attempted to make a joke. "You know we've got to stop meeting like this."

"No kidding," Sara responded, as she slowly looked around the hospital room. "Which hospital am I in?"

"Desert Palm."

Sara closed her eyes and commented, "Mmm, my fave. What happened this time?"

"Don't you remember?"

"No, the last thing I remember is Catherine picking me up from Dr. Young's and getting in a fight with her about Warrick." Sara opened her eyes and looked at Grissom again as a thought occurred to her. "Wait. Did she try to kill me? Is that why I'm here?"

"No. The two of you were in an accident."

"So she accidentally tried to kill me?"

"No, a drunk driver ran a red light and hit you."

Sara groaned as she tried to sit up higher in the bed. "Well, that explains why I feel like I got run over by a truck." Grissom, noticing Sara's struggles, quickly stood and helped her sit up. "Thanks," Sara told him. "How is Catherine? Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Grissom answered while readjusting her pillows. "She's a little scratched up, but otherwise she seems to be doing fine. She's worried about you."

Sara leaned back against the pillows. "Yeah, she's worried I'll get better and take Warrick away from her."

"No, I don't think that's it," Grissom stated, returning to his chair. "I think she's genuinely concerned. She told me that she stayed with you in the car, even after the rescue workers tried to make her get out."

"That was nice of her, almost uncharacteristically so these days. Are you sure she wasn't trapped and had no choice but to stay with me?"

"Yes, from what I've been told, she could get out. You couldn't. She said that she didn't want you to be alone."

"Oh. I'll have to thank her later," Sara said, wincing at the last few words. She rubbed her neck and asked, "Why is my throat so sore?"

"It's probably from the breathing tube."

"The breathing tube?" Sara repeated, her eyes darting around the room in panic. "How long have I been here? What's wrong with me?"

Grissom, fearing Sara would have a panic attack before he could tell her about the surgery, grabbed her hand and tried to get her to focus on him. "Sara, honey, look at me," he directed, but Sara continued to look everywhere but him. Not knowing what else to do, Grissom took Sara's face in his hands and forced her to look at him. "Sara," he repeated several times before she finally answered him in a soft voice, "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you. You just had to have a splenectomy. That's all."

"A splenectomy? I had to have my spleen removed? Why?"

"The car that ran into you hit the SUV on your side. The impact was hard enough to rupture your spleen. Apparently, there was too much damage to treat it any other way." Sara began to tear up so Grissom tried to reassure her that she would be okay. "Hey, you're going to be fine. You can live a long, healthy life without a spleen. You'll just be a little more susceptible to infections than the average person, that's all. We'll just have to make sure that you get your flu shot every year, take your vitamin C, get plenty of rest, stuff you should be doing anyway."

"How long have I been here?"

"Just a few hours."

"You swear?"

"I swear."

Sara nodded and whispered, "Okay." Grissom, taking the movement as a sign that her panic had subsided, wiped away a tear with his thumb before removing his hands from her face and awkwardly placing them in his lap. "What about the kids. Do they know?"

"Not yet. Connor is still at school. Ava is with Rachel."

"If I don't come home..." Sara said, her voice trailing off as she thought about the possibilities.

"I know."

"Gil, Connor already has nightmares about something happening to me. When he finds out about this..."

"I'll talk to him. We both will. We'll find a way to make it okay."

"We?"

"I know that I didn't do such a great job of that yesterday."

"No, you didn't."

"I haven't been doing such a great job at a lot of things lately, and I am truly sorry for that."

"I haven't been doing such a wrap up job myself."

"Sara, about Heather--"

Sara cut him off before he could go any further. "I don't have the energy to talk about her right now," she stated, leaning back into the pillows and closing her eyes.

"Fair enough. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

Sara opened her eyes and stared at him, as if trying to determine the authenticity of his apology. After a few minutes, she nodded and said, "Okay."

Grissom, scared to press his luck any further, stood up. "I should probably go so you can get some rest."

Sara surprised herself and him by saying, "No, don't. Can you stay?"

"If that's what you want."

"It is."

Grissom sat back down.

* * *

Sara stared at the TV hung on the wall. She had only been watching it for 10 minutes, and already she was bored. She wanted to get up. She wanted to do something other than just lie there, but she knew she couldn't. The sharp pain that she felt in her left side every time she moved too much in one direction was a testament to that fact. The initial onslaught of visitors had helped to ease the boredom some, but the majority of the well-wishers had insisted on leaving after a few minutes so she could get some rest.

"What a joke," Sara mumbled to herself. If any of them had spent any substantial time in a hospital, they would have realized that it's virtually impossible to rest in a hospital. So far, she had not been able to sleep for more than an hour at a time without a nurse waking her up to check her vitals.

Then there was Grissom's hovering. She appreciated the fact that he was so concerned, but his constant questions--"Do you want me to fluff your pillows?", "Do you need some more water?", "Do you need another blanket?", "Do you want me to close the blinds?", "Do you, do you, do you?"--were beginning to make her crazy, especially now that the anesthesia had fully worn off. She had to finally send him out for food and a shower just so she could have a few minutes of silence.

Not that she didn't need the food, she thought, as she glanced over at the food that the nurse had left on the tray table. Indigestible did not even begin to describe it. It wasn't fit enough to give to Hank, let alone a person who just had an organ removed.

Sara glanced back up at the TV when she heard the studio audience boo. The male guest was pointing at a picture of him and a toddler on a split screen. "That ain't my nose! I'm telling y'all. That ain't my nose!"

The audience booed him again. "She ain't nothin' but a ho" got another round of disapproval.

"It really isn't his nose," Sara told the TV.

Sara turned away from the TV when she heard a knock on the her room's opened door. "Are you up for a visitor?" Greg asked from the doorway.

Sara lit up. "For you, always."

"I come bearing gifts," Greg said, holding up a duffel bag. "I thought that you would be bored by now."

"I am. I've had to resort to watching talk shows." When Greg put the bag on the foot of her hospital bed, Sara pointed up at the TV. "Look, this woman has had Maury test nine different men already, and not a single one of them was her baby's daddy."

Greg turned around and looked at the TV screen. "Is she back for the tenth?" he asked.

"Yep."

They watched as Maury Povich read the results of the tenth DNA test. "You are not the father," he told the man who had sworn that the child's nose was not his. The child's mother knelt down and screamed.

"Damn," Greg commented.

"No kidding." While Greg sat down beside her, Sara told him, "You know people have been in and out of here all afternoon, and this is the first time that I've seen you. I was starting to wonder if you were the drunk driver, and no one had the heart to tell me that you were in jail or dead."

Greg responded slyly, "Well, just between you and me, there have been a couple of times over the last few weeks when I've thought about showing Catherine how I really feel about the way she's been treating you, but I would never do that with you in the car."

Sara laughed. "Good to know. So where have you been?"

"I was here. Then Nick pulled rank and sent me on a coffee run."

"Right, I had forgotten how horrendous the coffee is here. He shouldn't have sent you though. He should have sent Hodges."

"It's okay. I don't mind. I wanted to pick you up some things anyway. I know how easy it is to go stir crazy in this place."

"Thanks."

"So how does it feel to be spleen-free?"

"Not as bad as you would think, so long as the nurses keep giving me my meds on a regular basis. My swimsuit modeling days, however, are so over," Sara answered, rolling her eyes at her last statement.

"Hey, I'd still pay good money to see you in a bikini."

"Gee, thanks, Greg. So what did you bring me?"

Greg leaned over, grabbed the bag off the end of the bed, and put it in his lap. He then unzipped the bag and started handing things to Sara. "Some magazines, both forensic journals and some stuff you'll probably never admit to reading. Don't worry. If anyone asks, I'll swear that I saw you reading the journals, not the tabloids."

Sara laughed again. "Thanks, Greg," she told him. "I knew I could count on you."

Greg pulled more items from the bag. "I also brought you your iPod, my DS--you can thank me later—and some movies."

"Anything good?" Sara asked, while flipping briefly through the titles.

"I hope you think so," he said, as he pulled the last item, a portable DVD player, from the bag. Looking around the room, he inquired, "Um, where's Grissom?"

"I asked him to get me something to eat. There's no way I'm eating that mystery meat over there," Sara answered, motioning in the direction of the tray table.

"No vegetarian menu, huh?"

"Even if I wasn't a vegetarian, I wouldn't eat that."

"How long ago did he leave?"

"Just a few minutes. Why?"

"No particular reason," Greg answered. He turned on the DVD player and placed it in Sara's lap.

Sara, growing concerned over Greg's questions, looked suspiciously at the player. "Greg, this isn't one of your home movies, is it? Because if it is, you should know that while I may be high on pain meds, I'm not _that _high. I'm really not in the mood to see you and some girl--"

"It's not me."

"Then who?"

"Just watch," Greg directed, hitting play.

"Greg..."

"Sara, just trust me, okay? It's not what you think."

"Fine," Sara said, crossing her arms and preparing herself for what she assumed would be a compromising video of one of her other coworkers. She quickly found out that it wasn't exactly a coworker.

"_Shh, Ava. Shh. Please stop crying. Mommy will be home soon."_

"That's Grissom," Sara stated, as she watched her husband pace the townhouse's living room with their crying daughter in his arms.

"Yes, it is."

"When is this from?"

"Monday morning."

"How?"

"Nick told me where you kept the DVD's for the nanny cams. Luckily, you hadn't recorded over this one yet."

"_Do you want Mr. Teddy?" Grissom asked Ava, as he bent down and retrieved a teddy bear from the play pen. When he stood up, he shook the bear from side to side so that it appeared to be dancing in the air. "Look, Ava. Here's Mr. Teddy, and Mr. Teddy really wants you to stop crying." Ava looked at the bear and screamed louder. "Okay, Mr. Teddy is going bye-bye," Grissom told his daughter, as he tossed the bear back into the playpen. "What about your blankie? Is that what you want? What do you say we go find it?"_

As Grissom disappeared from the screen, Sara admitted to Greg, "I was so upset, I didn't even think to check."

"Hey, neither did I, but then I was on my way to Starbucks to get everyone's coffee, and a news report came on the radio about a babysitter who had been arrested for child abuse after the nanny cam caught her shaking her employer's baby. So that got me to thinking about your nanny cams and whether Grissom had remembered to turn them off when he got home Monday morning. I called Nick, and he said that you had brought the cameras and discs with you so after I dropped off the coffee, I borrowed Nick's key, swung by his place, and voila."

When Grissom reappeared, Sara pushed the DVD player away from her. "Greg, if this shows what I think it's going to show, I really don't want to see it."

Greg pushed the player back into her lap. "Yes, you do."

"_That's better, isn't it? Daddy will have to remember to try the blankie first next time. Now what do you say we get Daddy some coffee?" Grissom started to walk into the kitchen but stopped when he heard the knock on the door. "Or not," he told Ava. "Let's hope that's Mommy, and she forgot her keys."_

As Grissom walked towards the door, he and Ava disappeared off screen, but the nanny cam still managed to record their and a woman's voices.

"_Hello, Gil," the woman said._

"_What are you doing here?" Grissom asked. A few seconds later, Ava began to cry again._

"_I thought maybe we could talk."_

"_I don't think that's such a good idea," Grissom stated, as Ava's cries turned into screams._

"_Why? Because of Sara?"_

"_Yes, because of Sara."_

"_I called the lab, Gil. I know that Sara is still out in the field. I'll be gone before she ever even knows that I'm here."_

"_I don't know."_

"_Given the way that you treated me the last time that I was here, I think that you do."_

Greg and Sara heard the sound of the front door creaking further open, followed by the click of heels on hardwood and the sound of the door shutting back. First Lady Heather and then Grissom and Ava appeared on screen. When Ava screamed louder, Grissom tried to quiet her.

"_Shh. Sorry about the crying. The rubbing always seems to work for Sara, and yet it doesn't seem to be working for me."_

"_Have you tried a warm bath or driving her around the block?"_

"_Do those things actually work?"_

"_Like a charm, or at least they did with Zoey."_

"_I'll have to try them later. I think that she's just sleepy. It's past her bedtime."_

"_Maybe you should go put her down then."_

"_Yeah, maybe I should. I'll be right back."_

_After Grissom walked off-screen, Lady Heather picked a magazine off the coffee table, flipped through a few pages, and then placed the magazine back on the table._

"I guess Lady Heather doesn't like your supply of reading materials."

"Yeah, well excuse me from not subscribing to _Better Homes & Bondage_."

When Lady Heather began crossing and uncrossing her legs, Greg asked, "What is she doing that for?"

Sara answered sarcastically, "I don't know. Maybe her leather thong is giving her a wedgie."

_Grissom reappeared, sans Ava, and stood opposite Lady Heather. "Look, Heather. I'll admit that I don't like the way we left things."_

"_Neither do I."_

"_But that night should have never had happened. I should have never started drinking. I should have never let you in, and I certainly should have never slept with you."_

"_I agree. You know, I once chastised my daughter for sleeping with a married man. It would be hypocritical of me to now suggest that it's okay for me to do the same. Still, I sometimes wonder..."_

"_Wonder what?"_

"_What it would be like for us if there was no Sara. Don't you ever wonder that?"_

Seeing the leg action again, Greg asked, "Another wedgie?"

"I doubt it," Sara answered, the sarcasm now gone from her voice.

"_No, never."_

"_Not even once?"_

"Skank," Sara whispered, as she watched Lady Heather move her skirt up her legs.

"_Not even once. For me, there is only Sara."_

"_Good answer. Just make sure you tell your wife that when she comes home."_

When Lady Heather stood up and walked over to Grissom, Greg advised, "Sara, you may not want to watch this part."

"It's okay, Greg. I've already seen it," she responded, her jaw set in anger.

_On screen Heather kissed Grissom. Almost immediately, a slew of cuss words were heard off screen. Grissom pushed away from Heather and walked in the direction of the curses._

"_You lying, no good, piece of--"_

"_It's not what you think," Heather said from the living room._

"_Sara, please," Grissom stated off screen._

"_Don't touch me. Don't ever touch me again." The sound of the door opening was followed by, "He's all yours," and the door slamming shut._

_Heather walked off screen as well. "Gil, I am so sorry. I never meant for her to see that."_

"_I think you should leave now."_

_The door creaked open. Then Heather could be heard saying, "You should go after her."_

"_Thank you for the advice. Please don't come back."_

The door could be heard shutting. Grissom then walked back on screen and sat slowly down on the couch. As the man placed his head in his hands, Greg reached over and hit stop on the DVD player.

"He was telling the truth, Sara. He didn't sleep with her, or at least he didn't sleep with her again."

"No, he didn't," Sara admitted quietly.

"And he didn't initiate the kiss."

"No, he didn't."

"You know I'm not Grissom's biggest fan these days, and I know that this is none of my business, but if that kiss is the only reason you left him, maybe you should give him another chance."

Sara shut the lid to the DVD player and handed it back to Greg. "You're right. It's not any of your business."

Greg took it and placed it on the side table. "Well, then I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything." Greg paused for a minute and then said, "No, I'm not sorry. Sara, you're my friend. Hell, you're probably my best friend, and I want you to be happy. If that means going back to Grissom, then, great, go back to Grissom. If that means divorcing him, then I'll drive you to the lawyer's office myself. I just...I don't want you to leave again."

"Who said I was going anywhere?"

"No one, but..."

"But what?"

"But you're the one who said that leaving is what you do. Call me selfish, but I don't want you to go."

"I'm not going, Greg. I don't know if I'm going back to Grissom or not, but I'm not leaving Las Vegas."

"Good. You know, I could so start singing a Sheryl Crow song right now," Greg joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Please don't. Nick singing to me last week was bad enough."

"Fine. I can take a hint. Is there anything else I can get you?"

"You've brought me enough. Thank you."

Greg stood up. "Then I'm going to go so you can get some rest."

Sara mumbled, "Yeah, you and everyone else."

* * *

Warrick and Nick sat at a booth at Chuck-E-Cheese, eating pizza and watching Connor play games. When Grissom had asked Nick if he could pick up the child from school, Nick had readily agreed and asked Warrick to come along for the ride. He had hoped that, once they were away from the hospital, Warrick would tell him what was going on with him, but so far his friend had said very little. Instead, Warrick had alternated between staring off into the distance and watching Ava bang her rattle against the side of her stroller.

At one point, Ava threw her rattle down, screamed, shoved her hand in her mouth, and began to cry. While Warrick retrieved the rattle, Nick lifted the baby from the stroller and tried to comfort her.

"Someone's grumpy," Warrick commented, as he placed the dirty rattle on the table, just out of Ava's reach.

"She's been doing that a lot lately," Nick told him. He rubbed circles on Ava's back, the way he had seen Sara do it many times before, but the motion did little to soothe Ava's cries. "Sara thinks she's teething."

Warrick put his hands up. "Mind if I try?" he asked Nick.

"No, go ahead," Nick said, handing the crying child to Warrick.

Almost immediately, Ava stopped crying. Warrick chuckled and looked over at Nick. "Ah, see. Teething has nothing to do with it. Someone just doesn't like her Uncle Nick."

Ava chose that moment to reach up, grab a handful of Warrick's hair, and pull. When Warrick winced, Ava laughed, let go of his hair, and then began babbling.

"Funny, but I don't remember her pulling my hair," Nick retorted.

"Maybe that's because you hardly have any."

"Uh-huh," Nick mumbled, unconsciously rubbing his semi-shaved head. He then nodded in Connor's direction. "Do you think he knows something is up?"

Warrick looked over at him as well. "Considering the fact that he has been looking more at us than he has the video game screen, I would say so. See, there he goes again, sneaking in another look."

Nick had noticed the same thing. "I've heard Sara say that he's wise beyond his years."

"Well, look at who his parents are. You can't possibly be surprised."

"No, I guess I can't. I guess it's time we tell him what's really going on," Nick said, as he motioned for Connor to come back to the table. When Connor slid in next to Nick, Nick told him, "Connor, we need to talk."

"Mom isn't working late, is she?" he asked the men, the look in his eyes telling them that he already knew the answer to his own question.

"No, she isn't," Nick admitted.

"I knew it. If Mom was working late, she would just have Rachel or Grissom pick me up."

"Grissom?" Warrick asked the child.

Connor looked down at the table and mumbled, "I don't feel like calling him Dad right now."

Warrick looked at Nick and raised his brows at Connor's answer. Nick shrugged in response. As Connor began fiddling with his previously discarded napkin, he asked Nick, "What happened to her? Was it the bad lady?"

"No."

"Was it Michael?"

"No."

"Did she get shot?"

"No, she was in a car accident."

"Is she dead?" he asked quietly.

"No, of course not."

Connor finally looked up. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Nick answered.

Recognizing the distrust in Connor's eye, Warrick piped in, "Connor, we just saw her at the hospital. She's fine, I promise."

"So then why is she in the hospital?"

"Because she had to have surgery."

"What for?"

"The accident damaged her spleen so the doctors had to remove it."

"What's a spleen?"

"It's an organ that's on the left side of your body, right up under your ribs."

"What does it do?"

"Mostly it helps you fight infection."

"Will Mom be okay without it?"

"She'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Your mom is as strong as they come."

"Okay." Connor played with his napkin for another moment and then put it down. "Can we go see her?"

"Of course," Nick answered.

"Good. I want to go now."

"Then let's go."

* * *

Sara never got to rest. She also didn't get to give much thought to Grissom and the DVD, as she received an unexpected visitor a few minutes later.

"Hank, what are you doing here?" she asked her ex, who was standing in the doorway with a vase of flowers.

Hank awkwardly stepped into the room. "I, um, I wanted to make sure that you were okay." He walked over to Sara, held out the flowers, and said, "These are for you. You still like daisies, don't you?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." Despite her gratitude, Sara did not take the flowers from Hank. Instead, she nodded in the direction of the windowsill and asked, "Could you, uh?"

"Right, of course," he responded before walking quickly to the window.

With Hank's back to her, Sara stared inquisitively at the man she had not seen in years. "So how did you know I was here?" she inquired.

Hank turned around. "Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"I was one of the paramedics on scene. I helped get you out of the car."

"No, I'm sorry. The last thing I really remember is Catherine picking me up."

"Oh," he responded. Seeming not to know what to do with his vase-free hands, Hank alternated between putting them in his pockets and rubbing them on his pants. Finally settling on pockets, he asked Sara, "So how are you?"

Sara motioned at the IV tubes and monitor. "Obviously I've been better." Feigning politeness, she asked, "How are you?"

"Good, good."

"How's Elaine?" she asked, her polite tone now replaced by a flip one.

"She's, uh, she's doing great. The last I heard she was married and expecting her second child with a doctor she met through work."

Sara tried unsuccessfully to stifle a laugh. "I'm...," Sara said, pausing to put her hand over her mouth and conceal the smile that went with the laugh. "So sorry."

Hank laughed a little himself. "No, you're not."

Sara lowered her hand and agreed, "You're right. I'm not."

"It's okay. I deserved it."

"Yeah, you kind of did."

"Look, Sara, what happened...The way you found out...It wasn't supposed to go down like that."

"You mean I wasn't supposed to find out that you had another girlfriend to much, much later?"

"No, that's not what I meant. What I meant to say was that I never meant to hurt you."

"Of course, you didn't," Sara replied sarcastically.

"I didn't, I swear. I just...got in over my head."

"Well, that's one way of putting it. Tell me, Hank, how long did you think you were going to be able to string both of us along before one of us found out about the other?"

"I don't know. I didn't think--"

"You didn't think, what? That we'd ever meet? Vegas may be big, Hank, but it's not that big."

"No, I just---"

"Are we interrupting?" Nick asked, knowing very well that he was.

Sara, appearing grateful for the interruption, motioned for him, Warrick, Ava, and Connor to come in, as she stated, "No, come in."

"Warrick and I thought that you might be up for a couple of visitors."

"Hi, Mom," Connor said, as he slowly approached Sara's bedside.

"Hi, baby," Sara replied, replacing the scowl she had aimed at Hank with a smile.

"Nick and Warrick said you had an accident."

"I did."

"They also said that you had a body part removed."

"Actually, it was an organ, honey. The doctors had to remove my spleen."

"It was still part of your body, wasn't it?"

"Yes."

"Then it was a body part."

"Yes, I guess it was."

"Does it hurt?"

"It did, but the doctors gave me something to make it feel better."

"Like Tylenol?"

"Sort of."

From the other side of the bed, Hank, looking confused, cleared his throat and caused everyone in the room to look at him. After a few seconds of awkward silence, Connor was the first one to speak. "Who are you?" he asked Hank.

"I'm Hank," the paramedic replied.

"We have a dog named Hank, or at least we used to. He's just my dad's dog now."

Hank looked from Connor to Sara. "You named your dog Hank?" he asked.

Sara smirked as she answered him, "I thought it was a good name for a dog." Nick and Warrick laughed from across the room, causing Hank's face to turn red. Figuring that this was a good of a time as any for introductions, Sara motioned to Connor and said, "Hank, this is my son Connor." She then caught Warrick's eye and nodded. After Warrick crossed the room and handed the child to Sara, she continued with her introductions. "And this little one is my daughter Ava."

Hank stared wide-eyed at Sara and her children while he said, "Your son and your daughter. Wow, that's new."

"Not really," Nick replied.

"How do you know my mom?" Connor asked Hank.

"We, uh, we used to work together," he responded.

"You don't anymore?"

"Not if I can help it," Sara answered for her ex.

Hank looked at Sara, then at Connor, squinted, and then returned his gaze to Sara. Thinking out loud, he said, "Connor...Connor...Why does that name sound so familiar?"

"It's a pretty common name, man," Warrick answered.

Hank looked at Warrick and Nick, trying to figure out if they knew something he didn't. When he failed to find an answer in their faces, he returned his gaze to Sara. Sara, however, would not look him in the eye and chose instead to stare at Ava's kicking feet. Hank was silent for another moment, and then his eyes grew big again. "Wait. I remember. Isn't that the name of that kid you were watching that night, that kid from down the hall, the one who's mother..." He stopped when he saw Sara's cheeks turn red. Realizing that he had been lied to, he asked, "She wasn't his mother, was she?"

Sara finally looked up at him. "No, she wasn't."

_Sara smoothed the hem of her dress and checked her image again in the mirror. It had been a long time since she had worn a dress, let alone heels, and she had to admit that it was going to take some getting used to. She knew, however, that her normal work attire wasn't going to cut it tonight. For once, she and Hank had the same night off. He had managed to get them a table at Spago's and tickets to David Copperfield. She had manged to blow a good portion of her paycheck on the dress and the fancy lingerie that she wore underneath. She hoped Hank would see it as a fair trade._

"_Only one way to find out," she told her reflection when she heard the knock on the door. "You're early," she said, as she opened the door, but both the smile on her face and her upbeat tone disappeared quickly when she saw who was on the other side. "Michael, what are you doing here?"_

_Michael frowned at the greeting. "Nice to see you to, Sare. I thought you knew what today was."_

"_What today is," Sara repeated. Michael shook his head at Sara's response and stepped to the side. A three-year-old Connor, carrying a Blue's Clues backpack in one hand and a stuffed bear in the other, took his place._

"_Thupwise, Mommy!" Connor exclaimed. Dropping his bag and bear, he ran the few steps to Sara and wrapped his arms around her legs._

"_What today is," Sara said again, wincing as she realized what Michael had meant. "Connor's birthday."_

"_Right. Connor's birthday," Michael mimicked, picking up Connor's belongings and following his son inside. Giving Sara the once over as she shut the door, he continued, "Nice dress. Is this how criminalists dress in Vegas?"_

"_No. I had plans."_

"_Well, now you have new ones. Son, tell your mother what you wanted for your birthday."_

_Connor looked up at Sara and held up his arms. "You."_

_Sara leaned over to pick up Connor and stumbled as she tried to right herself in her heels. "You want me?" Sara asked her son._

_Connor nodded. "Uh-huh. Gueth what," he challenged, placing his face nose-to-nose with Sara's._

"_What?" Sara asked, trying not to tear up as she stared into Connor's brown eyes._

"_I fwee now," Connor answered, holding up three fingers on one hand._

"_I know."_

"_I big boy."_

"_I know."_

"_I mithed you," Connor said, placing his arms around Sara's neck._

"_I missed you, too."_

"_Good," Michael commented, as he dropped several items on Sara's sofa. "Here's his backpack, his overnight bag, and Pookie. I'll be back Friday to pick him up."_

_Sara, panicking at the idea of being left alone with Connor for several days, tried to stop Michael from leaving. "You can't go. I have to work."_

"_Not tonight you don't. I called the lab and checked," Michael responded with a smug smile._

"_But I do tomorrow night."_

"_So call in sick. Knowing you, I'm sure you have plenty of sick time saved up."_

"_But--"_

"_No buts, Sara. The lab can live without you for a few days. Your son can't. Deal with it." Michael patted Connor on the back. "I'm going to go, Connor. Have fun and be good for Mommy."_

"_Kay," Connor replied, turning his head to look at Michael._

"_I love you."_

"_I wuv you, too, Daddy."_

_Michael looked Sara up and down a second time. "You know, Sare, when I get back, you could wear this dress again, and we could catch up on old times."_

_Sara glared at Michael. "Like that's ever going to happen."_

_Michael smirked. "We'll see."_

_Sara grimaced, as she shut the door behind Michael. She knew what "We'll see" meant, but she also knew that she couldn't dwell on that now. She had to first figure out what to do with Connor and with Hank. _

_Seeming to pick up on Sara's anxiety, Connor began squirming in Sara's arms. "Mommy, want down!" he commanded._

_Sara lowered her son to the ground. Once free, Connor ran over to the coffee table, picked up the remote, and began hitting buttons. Sara checked her watch, frowned at the time, and looked over at Connor. "Is there anything else you want?" she asked._

"_Pongebob!" Connor exclaimed._

"_Spongebob. Okay, I think I can manage that." Sara walked into the living room, took the remote from Connor, and flipped through the channels. _

_As she passed Nickelodeon, Connor cried out, "Mommy!"_

"_What?"_

"_You mithed it."_

"_I did?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

_Sara began to slowly flip through the channels, going in the opposite direction than she had just gone. "Is this it?" she asked Connor on the next channel._

"_No, Mommy!" Connor exclaimed, putting his hands on his hips._

_Sara turned to another channel. "What about this?"_

"_No, no, no."_

"_Okay, how about this?" Sara asked, as she changed the channel to one featuring what, to her, looked like an animated piece of cheese._

"_Yeth!"_

"_Okay, okay." Sara sat down and watched Connor dance to what she assumed was the theme song. "So why is his name Spongebob?"_

"_Mommy, he wiv under thea."_

"_Why would cheese live under the sea? Wouldn't he melt?"_

"_Mommy, Pongebob not chethe."_

"_Then what is he?"_

"_A ponge."_

"_Oh." Sara watched the show for a few minutes. Not quite seeing the sponge connection other than in the name, she asked again, "Are you sure he's not cheese? He looks like Swiss cheese to me."_

"_Mommy, Pongebob not chethe!"_

"_Okay, okay. So who's the pink guy?"_

"_Patwick."_

"_What is he supposed to be, a chewed up piece of bubble gum?"_

"_Mommy!"_

"_What?"_

"_Patwick not gum. Patwick tar fith."_

"_Oh. I can see that...I think. So who's the one with the bubble on her head?"_

"_Mommy!" Connor turned around to face Sara and put his hands back on his hips. _

"_What?"_

"_Me no hear."_

"_Sorry." Sara stood up. "I'm going to go change."_

"_Why? Mommy pwetty."_

"_Thank you, Connor, but Mommy's not very comfortable right now. You're not going to eat something you're not supposed to or break anything while I'm doing that, are you?"_

"_Nuh-uh," Connor responded, turning back to the TV._

"_Good. Don't, uh, stick your fingers in the electric sockets either."_

"_I not."_

_Sara quickly changed into the jeans and blouse she had on earlier and returned to the living room just in time to hear a knock on the door. Realizing Hank had finally shown up for their date, she mumbled, "Shit," under her breath._

"_Mommy thaid bad word," Connor stated._

"_You heard that?" Sara asked her son, embarrassed that he had caught her cussing._

"_Uh-huh."_

"_I'm sorry."_

"_It 'kay."_

"_You know not to say that word, don't you?"_

"_Uh-huh. Daddy thaid word bad. I not bad boy. I good boy."_

"_Yes, you are. Um, Mommy needs to talk to her friend for a minute, okay?"_

"_'Kay."_

_Sara partially opened the door to see Hank standing there in a suit and tie and holding a bouquet of flowers. "Hank, hi," Sara greeted._

"_These are for you," Hank said, handing Sara the flowers._

"_Thanks. They're beautiful."_

_Hank stared at Sara's clothes for several moments and then checked his watch. "Did I, um, get the time wrong or something? I thought I said 7."_

"_You did. Something came up."_

"_What? Did you get called into work?"_

"_No, not exactly."_

"_Then what, Sara? Do you know how hard it was for me to get us that table?"_

"_I do. It's just--" Before Sara could finish explaining, she felt a tug on her shirt and looked down to see Connor beside her._

"_I fwirsty."_

"_Okay, I'll get you something in a minute."_

"_I fwirsty now!"_

"_Okay. I'm coming. Why don't you go finish watching Spongebob, and I'll bring it to you?" _

"_'Kay," Connor said, sighing. _

_Sara, seeing the perplexed look on Hank's face as he watched Connor stomping back into the living room, tried to explain without giving away her secret. "Like I said, something came up."_

"_Yeah, I can see that."_

"_That was Connor. He's, uh, he's one of my neighbor's son. I don't know if you've met her or not. Diane? She's the lady that lives down the hall. She had an emergency, something about her mother being taken to the hospital. She asked me to watch Connor until she got back."_

"_You?"_

"_Yeah, I know I'm not the most ideal choice for a babysitter, but she couldn't get anyone else on such short notice. I really couldn't say no. I'm so sorry."_

"_It's okay. I understand."_

"_Maybe you can call up one of the guys from work. I'm sure one of them would want to see David Copperfield with you."_

"_A night out with the guys wasn't exactly what I had in mind for tonight, Sara."_

"_Me, either. I mean, you should see the dress I bought," Sara teased, her voice taking on a huskier tone. "I wouldn't dare waste it on a night out with Nick and Warrick."_

_Hank laughed at Sara's tone. "And why's that?" he asked._

_Sara stepped closer to him. "Because it was very tight and very...shall we say...brief."_

"_I'm sorry I missed that."_

"_Me, too. I'm also sorry you missed what I was wearing underneath."_

_Hank smiled. "And what was that?"_

_Sara stepped even closer and whispered in his ear, "Very...little."_

_Hank blushed and then started to cough when he saw Connor approaching them. "What?" Sara inquired, confused by the cough._

"_The kid," Hank whispered._

_Sara turned around quickly, her blush matching Hank's when she found Connor staring at them. "I thought you were watching Spongebob."_

"_Pongebob over. I want milk."_

"_Okay, I'm coming." Turning back to Hank, she stated, "I should probably go. He's thirsty."_

"_So I gathered. You know I could stay and help. I'm actually pretty good with kids. We could order a pizza, pick up a couple of Disney movies. It could be fun."_

"_I'm sure it could, but I don't want you to lose all that money you put into the Copperfield tickets. Call Todd. Call Jason. Call Alex. Go have some adult fun."_

"_Are you sure?"_

"_Yes. I'm sure. I'll call you later."_

"_Okay, but only if you promise me one thing."_

"_And what's that?"_

"_That you save the dress."_

_Sara smiled. "I promise I'll save the dress."_

_Hank gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Good."_

_Sara watched him go and then shut the door. Turning around, she found Connor staring at her, his hands once again on his hips._

"_Mommy wied," Connor accused._

"_I know," Sara admitted. _

"_I not wady kid. I your kid."_

"_I know."_

"_Why you wied?"_

_Sara knew she couldn't tell Connor the truth so she told him the first thing that came to mind. Placing the flowers on the kitchen counter, she said, "Because if Mommy told him that you were my son and that it was your birthday, he would want to come in and have cake with us, and Mommy's a little embarrassed because she doesn't have one yet."_

"_I wike cake."_

"_You do?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_Well, what do you say after you drink your milk, we go get one?"_

"_'Kay."_

"_What flavor do you want?"_

"_Chocwet."_

"_Chocolate, huh?" Sara asked, as she bent down and tickled Connor's sides. "You like chocolate?"_

_Connor squealed and laughed. "Yeth!"_

"_What else do you like?" she asked, continuing to tickle him. "Do you like candles?"_

"_Uh-huh," Connor managed to answer between fits of laughter._

"_How many should I get? One? Two? Four?"_

"_No! Fwee! I fwee!"_

"_Are you sure because I could have sworn someone told me that you turned ten today?"_

"_Mommy, I fwee! I fwee!"_

"_Okay, okay. Then three it is. How much milk do you want?"_

"_A wot."_

"_How much is a lot?"_

"_Thith much," Connor said, holding his arms out as far as he could reach._

"_Wow. That really is a lot. I don't know if I have that much milk. Will you settle for a cup of milk instead?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

_Sara stood up, started to walk over to the kitchen cabinets, and then stopped. "I just remembered that I don't have any sippy cups," she told Connor._

"_It 'kay, Mommy. I no need thippy cup. I big boy."_

_Sara stared down at him. "That you are."_

Hank shook his head in anger. "You lied to me," he stated.

Sara smiled as she replied, "I'd say that makes us even."

"So who's kid is he? His?" he asked, motioning in Nick's direction.

"No."

"Then whose?"

Sara sighed before answering. "Grissom's."

"Grissom's? As in your boss, Grissom?"

"That would be the one."

"And who's her father?"

"The same person."

Hank's face was now the color of a ripe tomato. "So the entire time we were together, you were sleeping with your boss and lying to me about it. How could you?"

Before Sara could answer, Warrick and Nick jumped to her defense. "How could she? How could you?" Warrick asked, as he crossed the room, quickly closing the distance between him and Hank.

Nick followed him. "Or have you already forgotten about Elaine? Because I assure you Sara hasn't, and neither have we."

Warrick cracked his knuckles. "No, we definitely haven't."

"Yeah, well Elaine wasn't my boss, and she wasn't old enough to be my mother. I mean, come on, Sara. He's got to be what, 20, 25 years older than you?"

"Fifteen," Sara muttered.

"Fifteen. Same difference. I mean, I knew you had daddy issues. You used to change the subject anytime I asked you about your father, but, seriously, Sara, sleeping with your middle-aged boss isn't exactly the way to work them out."

"Mom, what is he talking about?" Connor asked, confused by Hank's tirade.

"Nothing, honey. Hey, could you do Mommy a favor?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Could you take that pitcher over there to the nurses' station and ask them for some more ice? I'm getting thirsty again, and the ice is all melted."

"Okay."

Everyone was silent as they waited for Connor to leave the room. However, once Connor was gone, their conversation re-erupted.

"You bastard," Sara stated venomously. "How dare you say those things in front of my son?"

"Hey, the kid is going to hear them sooner or later. I'm not going to be the only person who points out that Daddy Dearest is old enough to be his grandpa and that his mother is a tramp."

Before either Sara or Hank could say anything else, Warrick cracked his knuckles again, causing everyone in the room to look at him. "Hey, Nick," Warrick said, nudging Nick's arm.

"Yeah, Warrick," Nick replied.

"Do you see that line right there?" Warrick asked, pointing at a spot on the floor.

"And which line would that be?"

"The one right by Hank's foot."

"Oh, yeah, I see it."

"I believe Hank's foot just crossed it."

"That it sure did."

"Hey, Nick, tell Hank what we do to people who cross that line."

"We make sure they can never cross it again."

"And how do we do that?"

"Oh, I'm thinking with a long drive out into the desert and a couple of shovels."

"Hmm, sounds like fun. Hey, Nick, do you have anything planned for the next couple of hours?"

"Nope. Do you?"

"I do now."

"Cute, very cute," Hank responded. He turned to Sara and said, "They're like your little guard dogs. Let me guess. You're sleeping with them, too."

"There went the other foot," Warrick stated, as both men took a step towards Hank.

Hank backed up in response. "Fine, I'm leaving," he told the men and Sara. He then reached behind him and grabbed the vase of flowers. "But I'm taking my flowers with me."

"You do that," Nick replied. When Hank got to the door, he couldn't resist one last retort. "Oh, and Hank, say hello to Elaine for me."

Connor, who passed Hank in the doorway a second later, asked the three, "Who's Elaine?"

"She's no one important, honey," Sara responded.

"Oh." Connor held out the pitcher and asked, "What do you want me to do with this?"

"Here, I'll take it," Nick, who was standing closest to Connor, offered. Connor handed the pitcher to Nick and then walked over to his mother's bed. When Sara subsequently patted the side of the bed next to her, Connor carefully climbed on and laid his head on her shoulder. "Are you going to have to spend the night?"

Sara, whose arms were still occupied by the squirming Ava, laid her head against Connor's. "Yes," she answered him.

"What about tomorrow night?"

"I'm probably going to have to spend several nights."

"Where are me and Ava going to go? Can we stay here with you?"

"I don't think the hospital will let you."

"Well, do we have to go home with Grissom?"

"Grissom?" Sara asked, surprised by the name Connor had called his father.

Connor gave her the same answer that he had given Nick and Warrick. "I don't feel like calling him Dad anymore."

"Okay," Sara said slowly, deciding that now was not the time to press the issue. "Do you want to go home with _Grissom_?"

"He doesn't want me there, so why should I?"

Sara sighed at her son's response. "Connor, we've been through this. He does want you there."

"No, he doesn't. If he did, he wouldn't have kissed that lady."

"Connor, your father kissing that lady has nothing to do with whether he wants you."

"Yes, it does. I asked him if she was his girlfriend, and he said she wasn't, but if he kissed her, that means she is his girlfriend and he's a liar. If he's a liar, then that means he also lied when he said he wanted us to stay."

"No, it doesn't."

"Yes, it does. Liars lie all the time. That's why they're called liars. I'm not stupid, you know."

"I never said you were. Where do you want to stay?"

"Can I stay with Uncle Ritchie and Aunt Cam?"

"Honey, they're four hours away."

"So? They have a car. They can come pick me up."

"But Aunt Cam has her alligator movie, and Uncle Ritchie has to work."

"Couldn't Cindy and Mindy pick me up? Then I could go the movie set with Aunt Cam. Maybe they'd let me be in the movie."

"You have school."

"So? Don't they have special schools for actors, like home school or something?"

"But you're not an actor."

"But I could be. I'm just as funny as Zack and Cody."

"Connor..."

"Fine," Connor said, crossing his arms in frustration. "I won't be an actor. Can we still stay with Nick? I'd rather stay there than go back to _Grissom's_."

Sara looked over at Nick, who nodded. "Sure, you can, but you're going to have to behave and do whatever Nick tells you to do, which means get a bath--"

"Mom, I told you baths are for girls."

"Fine, get a shower, eat your vegetables, go to bed--"

"I know, I know."

"And I want you to take care of your sister for me. Do you think you can do that?"

"Yes, but do I have to change her diapers?"

"No, I think Nick and Rachel can handle them."

"Good, 'cause poop makes me puke."

"Since when?"

"Since now."

Sara, despite the drama that had just occurred with Hank, laughed. "Well, we wouldn't want that," she told him. Ava, however, seemed to disagree with her mother's statement, as she reached over, grabbed Connor's hair the same way she had grabbed Warrick's earlier, and yanked.

"Hey," Connor said, as he quickly slid off the bed and away from his sister. Ava took further offense and began to cry.

"Aw, it's okay, baby," Sara said, before kissing Ava's forehead. "Connor didn't mean it. I'm sure your brother loves your poop."

"No, I don't!" Connor protested.

"On that note, we should probably get going, Connor," Nick suggested. "Your sister is getting cranky, and your mom needs her rest."

"Okay." Connor gave Sara a quick hug and then whispered, "I hope you feel better, Mom," in her ear.

"Thank you, baby."

"I love you."

"I love you, too. Be good."

"I know, I know."

Sara gave Ava another kiss and then asked, "So who gets this one?"

Warrick walked over to Sara. "I'll take her," he said, picking up the child. "She's not too fond of her Uncle Nick these days."

"Why's that?" Sara asked, puzzled by the remark and the shade of red that Nick was turning.

"Not enough hair to pull."

"Oh," Sara said, laughing again. "Hey, Nick, for what it's worth, you should consider yourself lucky. She can pull pretty hard for a five-month-old. It's not fun."

"Okay, first of all, the hair will grow out," Nick countered.

"Keep telling yourself that, Nick," Warrick joked.

"I will. Second, when Ava turns five and I buy her a pony, we'll see who's her favorite uncle then."

"Why don't I get a pony?" Connor asked. "I like horses, too."

"Honey, no one is getting a pony. Nick was just trying to make a joke."

"Oh."

"Hey, um, before the two of you go, I just wanted to thank you for the save earlier."

"Anytime, Sara," Nick replied.

"Yeah, it was a long time coming," Warrick added. "I'm just kind of disappointed that we didn't get to take that drive out to the desert."

"Me, too. Sara, if he comes back or gives you anymore problems, just let us know. It's not too late to buy the shovels."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"And those things he said. We know they're not true. You know they're not true, so don't sit in here obsessing over them," Nick continued.

"I won't," Sara replied, unable to meet his eyes.

"Sara--"

"I won't," she said, finally looking up at Nick. "I promise."

"I'm going to hold you to that."

* * *

"Are you really going to get Ava a pony?" Connor asked Nick on the way to the elevator.

"No, I was just joking."

"But if you do get her one, will you get me one, too?"

"Sure, but I'll tell you right now, with what I get paid, it will probably be a stuffed one."

"That's fine. Just don't get me a pink one. Pink is for girls."

"I'll try to remember."

"It shouldn't be too hard to remember. You're a boy. Would you want a pink horse?"

"Probably not."

"So why would I want one? I'm a boy, too."

"That you are. I'm making a mental note right now. No pink horses for Connor."

"Good." Connor waited until they had stepped into the elevator to ask his next question. "What does daddy issues mean?" he inquired.

"Why do you ask?" Nick replied, momentarily taken aback by the child's curiosity.

"Because that's what that mean guy was saying Mom had before she made me go get the ice. What does it mean?"

"It...uh...it means that she has unresolved...uh...feelings...or, um, things--," Nick stammered, as he tried to figure out how to explain the concept to an eight-year-old.

Warrick shook his head at Nick's ineptitude. Taking over for him, he explained, "Connor, it usually means that someone didn't get enough love or attention from their father when they were a child."

"Well, that's not Mom's fault. Grandpa died. It's hard for him to pay attention to her if he's dead."

"That it is," Warrick agreed.

"So why was he blaming Mom, and what does that have to do with Da—Grissom?"

"Hank was just pointing out that your father is a little bit older than your mother."

"So? He's not _her_ father."

"No, he's not."

"So why does it matter if he's older? Everyone is older or younger than somebody else."

"That's true; they are, and it doesn't matter. Hank's just jealous, that's all."

"Why is he jealous?"

"Because he used to go out with your mom a long time ago."

"Go out where?"

"I don't know. Restaurants. Movies. I think they went to a vineyard once."

"You mean he was her boyfriend?"

"Yes."

"Ooh. Mom had a boyfriend with the same name as her dog! "

"Well, I think he was just your dad's dog at the time, assuming Grissom even had him then. I can't remember."

"Still, it's weird."

"You're right; it is."

"Why was Hank here if he's not her boyfriend anymore?"

"I don't really know. I guess he was worried about her. He might have heard about the accident on the news or at work."

"He didn't act worried. He acted mean."

"That he did."

Stepping out of the elevator into the hospital lobby, Connor continued his line of questioning. "Who's Elaine?" he asked. When Warrick and Nick exchanged glances rather than answer him, Connor got mad. "Don't tell me she's no one like Mom did. I know she has to be someone, or everyone wouldn't have said her name. I'm not stupid, you know."

"No, you're not," Nick said. He looked over at Warrick one more time, who nodded for Nick to continue. "Elaine...Elaine was Hank's other girlfriend."

"His other girlfriend? You mean he had two at the same time?"

"Yes, your mom and Elaine."

"Did Mom know?"

"Not at first, but she eventually found out."

"Just like she did about Da—Grissom and his girlfriend."

"Yeah, kind of like that."

"Did she cry then, too?"

"Probably."

"Did he ever tell her he was sorry?"

"Knowing Hank, probably not."

"Did he choose Mom or Elaine?"

"Elaine."

"Then he's stupid and a butthole, and I hate him."

"Well, then you're in good company."

* * *

Nick, Warrick, and her children weren't gone five minutes before Sara managed to break her promise.

"I knew you had daddy issues."

As much as she wished it wouldn't, the phrase kept echoing through her head, summoning forth memories that she had spent a good portion of her life forgetting, propelling her back in time to the night that started it all.

_Sara could not sleep. She was still mad that she could not go to Suzy's. As she stared at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck on her ceiling, she kept thinking, "Chicken pox? Who the heck gets chicken pox at their age?" Sara had had them in the first grade. So had most people in her class. Why hadn't Suzy, Sara wondered. She claims she was in Oregon then, but I bet it was just a lie so no one would know that she was really in a plastic bubble, like John Travolta in that movie._

_Sara turned over on her side and told herself that it was okay. Suzy was stupid anyway. Last time she spent the night, Sara had wanted to go out in the backyard and pretend that they were on the A-team, but Suzy refused. She said they couldn't play that because there was only one girl on the show, Amy, and they couldn't both be her. Sara had offered to wear some of Suzy's mom's jewelry and pretend to be B.A. or put on her dad's golfing gloves and khaki shirt and be Hannibal, but Suzy still stomped her feet. "No, you can't be a boy!" Suzy had declared. "You're a girl, and there aren't enough girls!" Sara tried to tell her that Murdock was crazy enough to dress like a girl, but that only made Suzy madder._

"_What about Knight Rider?" Sara had asked. Suzy had looked at her like she was stupid and asked, "What do you want to be, the car?" Sara had shrugged and answered, "Maybe. My dad lets me work on his car sometimes with him. He even showed me how to change a tire."_

"_That's so stupid! My daddy says girls aren't supposed to get dirty and work on cars. They're supposed to be pretty princesses."_

"_My dad calls me a princess, too."_

"_Well you don't look like a princess," Suzy had retorted, pointing at Sara's skinned knees and dirty fingernails. "You look like Cinderella before she went to the ball. The only reason I play with you is because my mom makes me."_

_Sara had started to cry then. Suzy's mom had heard her and made Suzy apologize. They had spent the rest of the night in Suzy's living room, Suzy playing with her collection of Cabbage Patch Kids and Sara pushing around the girl's My Little Ponies, hoping that one would magically turn into a real horse so she could ride it back home._

_She had never told her parents what Suzy had said. Maybe if I had, Sara thought, Mama wouldn't have called Mrs. Lewis and set up another sleepover. She still didn't know why she had started crying when Mama had told her she couldn't go. She guessed it was because she had wanted to get out of the house for awhile. She had rather be around Suzy and her stupid dolls than Mama and Daddy fighting all the time._

_At least Daddy had promised to take her to the beach tomorrow to make up for it. That's why she had pretended to be asleep when Mama had checked on her a few minutes earlier She didn't want to get in trouble and have to stay home. It would be different if Ritchie were here, Sara thought. He always let her hang around him and Michael, but he had to go to that stupid football game with all those stupid cheerleaders that act just like Suzy._

"_Stupid, stupid, stupid," Sara said to herself. "Everyone is stupid. I can't wait until I'm all grownup and around people who aren't so stupid."_

_Now on top of everything else she was thirsty. It's probably cause of Mama's cooking, Sara silently theorized. It was too salty tonight. She had drunk two glasses of milk at dinner, and her mouth was still dry. Even Daddy had thought it was too salty. To prove it, he had stuck his tongue out and made a funny face when Mama had gotten up to get desert. Sara had laughed so hard milk had come out of her nose. Mama didn't think it was funny though. She looked like she wanted to kill them both when she got back to the table._

_Maybe I can sneak down the hall without waking her up, Sara thought. I can be really quiet when I want to be, maybe not as quiet as Suzy and her precious ballerina feet, but quiet nonetheless. She had to do something soon, or her tongue was going to be permanently stuck to the top of her mouth, and then how would she talk? _

_Sara got up, went to her bedroom door, and cracked it open. She couldn't hear the TV in the living room, and she didn't see anyone in the hallway so she assumed her parents must have gone to bed. "The coast is clear," she told herself, before opening her door further and slipping out. Hugging the wall the way she had seen Ritchie do a few weeks earlier when he had snuck out to go to a party, Sara tiptoed down the hallway until she got to her parents' bedroom._

_Great, Sara thought. The door is open. Now what? She looked back at her bedroom door. She could just turn around and go back, but she really was thirsty. She didn't know if she could stand being that thirsty until morning. Taking a deep breath and thinking, "I'm invisible. I'm invisible. I'm invisible," Sara continued onward._

_Then she heard a noise that made her stop. At first she thought that the Barretts' cat was inside. She knew that the cat made a noise a lot like that when she was in heat, whatever that meant, but then she realized that the cat being inside didn't make sense. The cat made her father sneeze. There's no way he'd let it in the bedroom. The noise was followed by a another sound, one that reminded Sara of the squishing sound that wet sneakers made when you walked in them. What were they doing in there, Sara pondered. And what on earth was that smell?_

_Her curiosity overriding her fear of being grounded, Sara stepped closer to the doorway. Only one lamp was on, but it produced enough light to illuminate her parents. Her father was lying in bed, and her mother was standing next to him, her right hand in the air. As Sara watched, her mother brought her hand down, making the squishing noise again, and then raised it back up._

"_Mama?" Sara inquired, taking another step towards the bedroom. "Daddy?" she asked, taking another one._

_When her mother turned around, Sara saw the blood on her dress. "Mama, you're bleeding," she said. Her mother didn't say anything in turn. She just stared at Sara, her eyes wide, her cheeks splattered with drops of blood._

_Sara took another step into the room and noticed that the strange smell was stronger in there than in the hallway. "Daddy, wake up. Something's wrong with Mama. She's blee--" Sara began, stopping only when she realized that there was blood on her father, the sheets that covered him, and the walls. "Daddy?" she asked, running to him. She grabbed his arm and shook it. "Daddy, wake up! Daddy, please! We're supposed to go to the beach tomorrow! You have to wake up! Daddy, please!"_

"_Sara," her mother whispered._

_Sara turned to her mother. "Mama, something's wrong with Daddy. He won't wake up. You have to make him wake up!"_

"_I'm sorry, Sara, but I can't do that."_

_Only then did Sara notice the bloody knife in her mother's hand. "Mama," she whispered, as she backed into the hallway, her eyes never leaving the knife. "What did you do?"_

"_I did what I had to," Laura answered, as she stepped towards her._

_Sara, remembering the look that her mother had given her and her father at dinner, began to scream. She didn't stop until she felt Mrs. Barrett's arms go around her and pull her to her chest. "It's okay now, honey," she told her. "It's all over. You're going to be okay."_

_As she watched Mr. Barrett cuff her mother, she knew that she was going to be anything but._

"I knew you had daddy issues."

You thought you knew, buy your really have no idea, Sara thought, as she wiped a tear from her eye. Not even close.

"Knock, knock," Catherine greeted her from the door, interrupting her destructive thoughts. "You weren't about to go to sleep, were you?"

"No. Come in. I don't think I could sleep even if I wanted to."

"Mind if I ask why?" Catherine asked, as she pulled a chair beside Sara's bed.

"Hank was just here."

"Oh," Catherine said, looking at the floor.

"You don't look surprised."

"I'm not."

"Why not? I was."

"Well, after what you told him in the car..."

"After what I told him?" Sara asked, confused. "Catherine, what did I say to Hank?"

"Don't you remember?"

"No. The last thing I remember is fighting with you about Warrick."

"Oh," Catherine stated, again staring at the floor.

"What? Did I do something embarrassing?"

Catherine finally looked Sara in the eye. "I guess it depends on how you look at it."

_The pain below her rib cage was intense, a searing wave that transcended her abdomen, migrating to her left shoulder every time she inhaled. As she struggled to move, she wondered if she had broken something, maybe her arm again, possibly even a rib. Then there were her legs, which were still pinned under the SUV's glove compartment. Try as she might, she could not move them enough to tell what, if anything, was wrong with them. The pain and uncertainty, however, did not worry her as much as the smell. She had noticed the odor after the car had finally come to a stop._

"_Catherine," Sara said, opening her eyes._

"_I'm right here," Catherine answered, as she gave her left hand a reassuring squeeze._

_Sara turned her head and winced at the pain in her neck. "You should go."_

"_Hey, I told you I'm not going anywhere."_

"_The gas."_

"_I checked it. The leak is not that bad."_

"_Still..."_

"_I'm not going, Sara. That's final."_

"_Okay." Sara whimpered and closed her eyes as another wave of pain shot through her body._

"_Is it your stomach again?"_

"_Uh-huh," she said and whimpered again._

"_It's probably just from the seat belt."_

_Suddenly tired, Sara kept her eyes closed and nodded in affirmation. Despite the pain, she was finding it harder and harder to stay awake. All she wanted to do was sleep was for the next few hours and then wake up to find out the accident was all a dream._

"_Sara."_

"_Hmm?"_

"_Sara."_

"_What?" she asked, finally opening her eyes._

"_You can't go to sleep on me," Catherine implored._

"_Just a little nap," Sara muttered, her eye already beginning to close._

"_You can nap later. Now you have to stay awake."_

"_But I'm too tired," Sara answered, her eyes closing the rest of the way._

"_Well, snap out of it. The Sara I used to know could work two shifts on two hours of sleep and would even volunteer for a third."_

_Sara eyes remained closed._

"_Sara."_

_Sara did not respond._

"_Sara!" Catherine said more forcefully._

"_Just a few more minutes."_

"_Sara, you have to wake up now. The ambulance is here."_

_Sara still did not open her eyes. Instead, she told Catherine, "But I don't want to ride the bus. Ethan always ends up sitting next to me, and he won't stop eating his boogers. Can't you just take me to school?"_

"_No," a confused Catherine responded._

"_What about Daddy?"_

_Catherine, concern replacing her confusion, decide to play along. "No, he has already left for work."_

"_What about Ritchie?"_

"_He doesn't have his license yet."_

"_Right, I forgot."_

_Catherine looked up when she saw the blue uniform of a paramedic. "Finally," she told the uniform._

"_How is everyone in--" the paramedic began to ask, as he bent down to Sara's shattered window. "Sara?"_

"_Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Catherine responded, recognizing both the face and the voice. "Were there no other EMT's on duty?" _

"_Nice to see you to, Catherine," Hank Peddigrew responded. As he opened up his medical kit, he nodded at Sara and asked, "How is she doing?"_

"_How does it look like she's doing?" Catherine smarted. "At least this ought to wake her up." Catherine shook Sara's left arm, causing Sara to groan. "Sara, wake up. You'll never believe who's here."_

"_It's too early for Santa," Sara mumbled._

"_Well, it's definitely not Santa, although I'm willing to bet you wished that this person had disappeared to the North Pole a couple of times. Come on, Sara. Open your eyes." _

"_'Kay," Sara said, half opening her eyes and looking at Catherine._

_Catherine pointed in Hank's direction. "Look who's here."_

_Sara turned her head and smiled. "You came," she told Hank._

"_Did you think that I wouldn't?" he asked, as he reached through the window and strapped a blood pressure cuff around Sara's right arm._

"_Maybe. I wouldn't blame you if you hadn't."_

_Hank inflated the blood pressure cuff. "I had to come, Sara. It's my job."_

_Sara turned back to Catherine. "See, I told you he wasn't like Daddy."_

_Catherine, not knowing what else to do, squeezed her hand and waited for Hank to finish taking Sara's blood pressure. When he started to take her cuff off, Catherine asked, "How was it?"_

"_It...it was low," Hank admitted._

_Catherine, looking pensively at Sara's pale complexion, inquired, "How low?"_

"_Let's just say it could be better." Hank glanced behind him before addressing Sara. "Sara, the fire department is here. They're going to get you out of here just as fast as they can. Meanwhile, I'm going to go around to the other side and check on Catherine."_

"_Wait," Sara told him, as she reached through the window and grabbed his arm. "I have to tell you something."_

"_Okay," Hank said, looking down at her hand._

"_I'm sorry about the things I said. I should have given you a chance to explain."_

"_It's okay."_

"_It's just...seeing you with her. It hurt."_

"_I know."_

"_I just wanted you to know that I still love you. I always will."_

"Please tell me that you're joking," Sara implored.

"I wish that I could," Catherine replied.

"I actually told Hank that I loved him, and I always will?"

"That you did, but, if it's any comfort, your blood pressure was pretty low at the time. I think you thought that he was Gil."

"Did Hank know that?"

"I doubt it. You passed out right after you said it."

"Oh," Sara groaned. "Did anyone else hear me?"

"Maybe."

"Well, that's just...that's just great. At least it explains the flowers."

"Hank brought you flowers?" Catherine asked, glancing around the bare room. "Where are they?"

"He took them with him after Warrick and Nick threatened to drive him out to the desert and bury him."

"Why would they do that?"

"Uh, let's just say Hank called me some not-so-nice things in front of my kids, and the guys took exception."

"Looks like I missed all the fun," Catherine joked.

"If you want to call it that." The two were quiet for a minute. Sara then asked, "So how are you feeling?"

"Better than you, I'm sure."

Sara smiled and held up her IV tubes. "Oh, I don't know. These drugs are pretty nice. I highly recommend them." The line elicited a short laugh from Catherine. "Warrick was here earlier. I thought that he would be home with you." Catherine shrugged, a frown replacing her brief smile. "Did you at least talk to him?"

"For a few minutes," Catherine admitted.

"And?"

"And then he left."

"Maybe you should try talking to him again."

"I will, eventually. It's not like I have much choice in the matter."

"How's that?"

Catherine sighed, as she looked down at the floor. "I might as well tell you. It's not like I'm going to be able to hide it for long." She looked up at Sara and smirked. "I'm pregnant."

Sara blinked rapidly, as she said, "Uh, okay. I can't say that I saw that one coming."

"Join the club."

"It would explain the mood swings though."

"Yeah, about those... I've been a real bitch lately, Sara, and I'm sorry. Hormones or no hormones, there's really no excuse for the way I've been treating you."

"Hey, don't worry about it. I remember how moody I was those first few months. At least you didn't quit your job, leave your husband, kidnap your son, and taser your ex, all in the same two week period."

"No, I can't say that I went that far, but give me time."

"Does Warrick know?"

"He was there when the doctor told me."

"And?"

"And I don't think that he thinks it's his."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Give him time. He'll come around."

"I'm not so sure."

"I am. If you had seen him with Ava earlier, you would be, too."

Catherine snickered. "I'm surprised you're not asking me if it's his, too."

"If you had told me this yesterday, maybe I would have, but let's just say that I've recently learned that things aren't always as they appear and maybe I should start trusting people more."

"A car accident taught you all that, huh?"

"Sort of."

"Did it also teach you how I'm supposed to tell my 17-year-old daughter that she's no longer going to be an only child?"

"No, sorry. My moment of great enlightenment stops there."

"Lindsey is going to freak."

"Yeah, probably. You could always just send her a text message. Isn't that the main way teenagers talk these days?"

"Don't think I haven't thought of that already. 'Lins, BION, I'm pregnant. LMFAO about it. BHL8. AML, Mom.'"

"That...could work. Maybe you should buy her a new car first. That way, she won't even notice the text message."

"Don't think I haven't thought of that as well."

* * *

Grissom took a deep breath in an effort to steady his nerves. He had faced down rapists, child molesters, and even serial killers before, but none of them had scared him as much as his eight-year-old son. He never knew what to say around Connor, mostly because the child had the almost uncanny ability to take even the most complex of subjects and tear them down to their bare bones, making them so simple that Grissom often wondered why he, with all his schooling and experience, could not see them the same way.

The incident with Heather was a prime example. To him, what happened Monday was complicated. He and Heather had been friends once. Because of that friendship, he felt obliged to let her in and to hear her out, even though, by doing so, he knew that he was breaking the promise that he had made to Sara and risked destroying whatever trust he had gained since coming home. While the kiss at first blush seemed culpable, he knew that it was purely platonic, a goodbye gesture between two people who had once been close but who, thanks to circumstances of their own choosing, could no longer be.

To Connor, it was much simpler that that. Grissom had told both him and Sara that Heather was out of their lives. He had talked to Heather on Monday. He had even let her kiss him. Therefore, he had lied about her being out of their lives. In Connor's mind, if he lied about one thing, he must have lied about everything else, including wanting him. He couldn't fault the kid for his logic. He just didn't know how he was going to disprove it.

He did know, however, that he had to try. Taking another deep breath, Grissom knocked on Nick's door and waited anxiously for someone to answer.

"Grissom, hey. What are you doing here?" Nick asked a few moments later when he opened the door.

"I told Sara that I would come by and talk to Connor about what happened this morning."

"Sara has already talked to him about it. Warrick and I took him and Ava by the hospital earlier."

"Oh. I didn't know. Sara sent me home for a shower and food. I haven't been back yet."

"You can still come in and talk to him," Nick said, holding the door open.

Grissom stepped in. "Thanks."

"Let me go get him for him. He's doing his homework in the back."

While Grissom sat down, Nick disappeared down the hall. Knocking lightly on the opened bedroom door so as not to wake the napping Ava, Nick told Connor, "Grissom is here."

"So?" Connor asked, looking up from his notebook.

"So he wants to talk to you."

"Do I have to talk to him?"

"It's up to you, but your mom would probably want you to."

"He's just going to lie again."

"Maybe not, Connor. I know it may not seem like it right now, but your father isn't a bad guy. Just give him a chance, for your mom's sake if for no one else's."

Connor sighed loudly. "Fine," Connor proclaimed, as he put down his notebook and slid off the bed. "I'll go talk to him _for_ _Mom_." He then stomped out of the room, down the hallway, and into the living room. Seeing Grissom on the sofa, Connor crossed his arms and sat down in the chair opposite him with a loud huff.

Grissom, watching his son's antics, told him, "I take it that you're still mad at me."

Connor didn't say anything in return. He just set his jaw and stared at the floor.

"And you have every right to be mad at me," Grissom continued. "I haven't been the father that you needed, and I'm sorry for that."

Connor remained silent.

Grissom tried another tactic. "Did Sara ever tell you that my mother, your grandmother, was deaf?"

Connor shook his head.

"Well, she was, but you would have never known it when I was your age. Our house was always full of noise, laughter, talk."

"So?" Connor asked, finally looking up at his father.

"So all of that changed when I was nine and my father died. My father was my mother's world, and she kind of shut down after he died, emotionally. Our house became very...quiet. When she would talk to me, it was usually through sign language, not out loud."

"Why did she do that?"

"I think it was because speaking reminded her of my father. He may have been a brilliant botanist, but he could never quite grasp all the intricacies of ALS, and yet my mother never seemed to be bothered by that fact. She always spoke for his benefit, but after he died, at least at home, she just...stopped."

"Did she ever tell you that she loved you?"

"On occasion."

"Did she say it out loud, or did she sign it?"

"Usually she signed it."

"So then you didn't get to hear her say that she loves you?"

"No."

"Then you should know how it feels!" Connor yelled. He stood up in anger and walked over to the corner, turning his back to Grissom.

Grissom stood up as well and took a hesitant step towards Connor. "Yes, I should, and I do," he admitted to his son. "I just didn't realize that I was doing the same thing to you, Connor, and I'm sorry."

When Connor turned around, there were tears on his cheeks. "You're sorry," he mimicked in a whiny voice. "So what? It doesn't mean that you love me."

Grissom took another step towards Connor. "Of course, I love you. You're my son."

"So? Mom's your wife, and you don't love her."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. If you loved Mom, you wouldn't keep kissing that lady."

"It wasn't that kind of kiss, Connor."

"Then what kind was it?"

"A goodbye kiss."

"Couldn't you have just shook her hand or said, 'bye,' like a normal person?"

"Yes, I guess I could have."

"So why didn't you?"

"I don't know. I guess I just didn't have time before she kissed me."

"But you didn't have to let her kiss you. You could have just pushed her away. That's what I did when Laura Jones tried to kiss me on the playground last year."

"I did push her away, but your mom had already left and didn't see me do it."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"You don't."

"Then why should I believe you?"

Grissom closed the distance between him and Connor and put a hand on Connor's shoulder. "Because I'm your father, and I would never intentionally lie to you," he told his son.

Connor stepped back, causing Grissom's hand to fall from his shoulder. "But you did lie to me!" he exclaimed. "You said you wanted us to stay!"

"I did. I still do."

"So why didn't you try to stop Mom from leaving? Why did you let her take us?"

"I thought I was doing what your mom wanted."

"Well, if you think that's what Mom wanted, you're just plain stupid!" Connor screamed, before turning away from Grissom, running back to the bedroom, and slamming the door. Nick came back to the room just as Ava began to cry.

"I'm sorry," he apologized to Grissom. "He's still upset, and I think seeing Sara in a hospital again just made him worse."

"I tried, Nick. I don't know what else to do to get him to believe me," Grissom stated sadly.

"Keep trying until he does."

* * *

Grissom forced a smile on his face as he walked into Sara's hospital room. She had enough things to worry about for the time being; he didn't need to give her anymore. However, once he got closer to her hospital bed, he realized that he need not had bothered; Sara was asleep.

He tried to place the bag of food from the Potato Valley Cafe quietly on the side table but inadvertently knocked over the room's phone instead. Sara woke up and looked at him. "Hi," she said, smiling.

Picking the phone off the floor, he told her, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't. I was just resting my eyes."

Grissom placed the phone back on the table and retrieved the bag of food. Holding it up, he said, "I brought you dinner."

"Finally," Sara declared, grabbing the bag from him. Seeing the surprised look on Grissom's face, she tried to apologize for her abruptness. "Sorry. I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I'm just starving."

"It's okay," he responded, as he pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down. "I should be the one apologizing for taking so long. I just thought it would be prudent to stop by Nick's first and talk to Connor before I picked up dinner."

"Oh. In that case, apology accepted." Sara reached into the bag; pulled out a bottled water, a packet of plastic dinnerware, and a styrofoam to-go box; and handed them to Grissom. "Here's yours."

"Thanks."

The two were silent while they fixed their food. After Sara spooned a particularly large bite of vegetables, cheese, and potato into her mouth, Grissom found himself laughing, despite the day's events.

"What?" she asked him, another large bite halfway to her mouth.

"Nothing," he said, staring at the humorous, midair portion of food.

Sara, realizing that he was laughing at her, merely shrugged off his amusement. "Hey, I told you I was hungry," she said, before putting the bite in her mouth.

"I take it that means you're getting your appetite back."

Sara finished chewing before responding, "There's nothing like a hospital stay to jump start your taste buds." After taking a sip of water, she asked him, "So how did your talk go with Connor?"

"Not so well," Grissom admitted, as he picked at his own food.

"What happened?"

Grissom placed a fallen piece of lettuce back on his ham and cheese as he explained. "I talked. He pointed out the flaws in my argument.. Then he told me that I was stupid and slammed the door."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I can't really blame him. I disappointed him. I disappointed you. I disappointed myself."

"Yeah, about that," Sara started, now picking at her own food. "Greg was here earlier."

"Is that supposed to surprise me?" Grissom asked, his hand covering a mouth that was half-full of sandwich.

"No, but what he brought me might. It was the nanny cam DVD from Monday. You forgot to to turn the cameras off when you got home."

Grissom swallowed, took a sip of water, and responded, "Ava was so fussy that the nanny cams were the last thing on my mind."

"I know. I saw the video. I saw the other stuff as well. I know now that you were telling me the truth about what happened with Heather. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I should have trusted you."

"I haven't given you a lot of reasons to trust me lately. The truth of the matter is I told you that she was out of my life. Then I turned around and let her right back in it. As our son just pointed out, if I lied about one thing, how are either one of you supposed to know that I'm not lying about everything else?"

"Connor said that?" Sara asked, both amazed and frightened by some of the things her son had said recently.

"That or something pretty close to it. I told him that I loved him and that I was sorry that I made him think otherwise. He said that he didn't believe me since, in his mind, I've lied about everything else."

"I'm sorry."

Grissom shrugged sadly. "You can't really fault his logic."

"No, I guess you can't. You do realize his anger isn't really about you, or at least it's not all about you?"

"How do you figure that?"

Sara put her fork down as she tried to explain. "When Connor was three, Michael flew him out here for his birthday. I had worked a lot of double shifts that week, and I had finally gotten a day off so I had made plans with Hank. I didn't even remember it was Connor's birthday until they showed up at my door."

"It happens."

"In a Molly Ringwald movie maybe. Not in real life. Michael left him with me for three days. I canceled my plans with Hank. I called in sick. I bought Connor a cake and some toys. I even took him to the zoo. We actually had a nice time, no big screw-ups on my part, so by the time Friday rolled around I thought maybe I could do it full-time, that maybe I really could raise him on my own. Then like an idiot, I asked Connor if he wanted to stay with me."

"What did he say?"

"What do you think a three-year-old says after being showered with chocolate, ice cream, animals, and toys for three days?"

"Yes?"

"Right. He said yes, and then Michael showed up."

"_You don't have to get dressed so soon," an undressed Michael stated from Sara's bed, as he watched her slip on her bra at the foot of the bed._

"_Connor will be up soon," she responded, as she reached behind her back and tried unsuccessfully to hook the bra. "He shouldn't see us like this."_

_Michael leaned forward and finished hooking the bra for her. He then whispered in her ear, "Like what, Sara? Together? Happy?"_

_Sara turned her head and looked back at him. "I was thinking more along the lines of naked."_

_Michael leaned backed against the headboard and laughed. Putting his hands behind his head, he watched the now lingerie clad Sara bend over and search the bottom dresser drawer for additional clothes before asking, "So who's the guy, Sare?"_

"_What guy?" Sara responded, as she pulled out a long sleeve shirt that she thought would cover the bruises that were beginning to form on her wrists._

"_The blonde who brought you flowers the other night."_

_Sara, realizing that Michael must have remained in the parking lot of her apartment complex watching her place after he claimed to be leaving, turned around in anger. "Are you spying on me now?"_

"_I wouldn't call it spying. I would call it protecting my assets. I have a right to know who's around my son and my woman."_

"_I am not your woman."_

"_Funny, that's not what you were saying 15 minutes ago," Michael replied with a smirk. "So who is he?"_

"_He's no one," Sara answered, pulling the shirt over her head. "He's just some guy I work with."_

"_What's his name?"_

"_Hank."_

"_Hank what?"_

"_Hank Peddigrew," Sara told him, grabbing a pair of black slacks from another drawer._

"_Hank Peddigrew," Michael repeated, scrunching his face up as if the name left a bad taste in my mouth. "So what does Hank Peddi-doodoo do at the lab?"_

"_Peddi-doodoo?" Sara asked, turning around again. "That's real mature."_

"_It was the best I could come up with on short notice. So tell me, Sara, what does he do? You might as well tell me because you know I'm going to find out one way or another."_

_Sara sighed. She knew that, chances were, he had already run Hank's plates and knew exactly who he was and what he did for a living. She therefore opted to tell him the truth as she put her pants on. "He doesn't work at the lab. He's an EMT."_

"_An EMT. Let me guess. You met him at a crime scene and liked the way he did mouth-to-mouth."_

"_Michael, come on," she pleaded, already growing tired of the sarcastic banter. _

_Michael, however, wasn't so easily deterred. He got out of the bed and sauntered over to Sara. "Did you buy this for him?" Michael asked, as he picked the discarded dress off the floor and held it against her chest. "Did he enjoy taking it off of you as much as I did?"_

_Sara grabbed the dress out of his hand. "Yes, I bought it for him. No, he didn't enjoy taking it off of me. In fact, he never even got to see me in it because you showed up."_

"_Good," Michael said, his face mere inches from Sara's. "Make sure it stays that way." He then attempted to kiss her, but she turned her head, blocking the kiss. "Oh, so that's how it's going to be now. I insult your...EMT, and you play hard to get." Michael grabbed Sara by the forearms and yanked her towards him. "No problem. I can play that game." Forgoing her lips, Michael began kissing Sara's neck, gently at first, then with more force. When Sara let out an involuntary moan, Michael stopped and laughed. "Now that's more like it," he said before grabbing a handful of her hair and forcing her lips to his._

_They both stopped when they heard a "Mommy!" coming from the living room. Sara pulled loose from Michael's embrace, grabbed his clothes off the floor, and threw them at him. "Get dressed, while I go see about our son."_

_Sara left the room and shut the door behind her._

"_Mommy!" Connor cried again from the sofa where he had been sleeping._

"_I'm right here," Sara told him, as she crossed the room. Once by the sofa, she turned on a lamp and then sat down next to her son. Connor, in response, put his arms up in the air, silently telling Sara what he wanted her to do next. Sara complied by pulling him into an embrace. "Did you have a good nap?" she asked him._

_Connor laid his head on Sara's shoulder. "Yep."_

"_Are you thirsty? Do you need me to get you anything?"_

"_Me need go pee pee."_

"_Do you want me to go with you?"_

_Connor pulled back from Sara and crossed his arms. "No, Mommy!" he exclaimed. "I big boy."_

"_You sure you don't want me to help?"_

"_I thur."_

"_Okay, but if you change your mind, Daddy's in there changing clothes. Get him to help you."_

"_'Kay, Mommy."_

_Connor jumped down from the sofa, ran to Sara's bedroom door, opened it, and ran inside. Knowing that Michael and Connor would have to leave soon if they were going to catch their flight, Sara stood up and began putting Connor's things in his overnight bag. Her efforts, however, were soon interrupted by a crying three year old, who ran across the room, threw his arms around her legs, and wailed, "Mommy!"_

_Sara looked down at her son and then up at Michael, who had followed Connor out of the bedroom. "What did you do to him?" she asked angrily._

"_Nothing," Michael replied in turn. " I just told him that he needed to get his stuff together because it's time to go."_

_Connor looked up at Sara, his face already red from crying. "Mommy, I no go! I thay!"_

_Michael put a hand on Connor's shoulder as he addressed him, "Son, we've been through this before. You can't stay here."_

_Connor let go of Sara's legs, turned around, and crossed his arms in anger. "Mommy thaid me can," he informed Michael._

"_Mommy said that?" Michael asked, surprised that Sara had said so. When Connor nodded in affirmation, Michael looked over at Sara. "Sara?"_

_Sara tried to clarify by saying, "I just asked him if he wanted to."_

_Michael shook his head at the statement. "Oh, let me guess. You made it three days without hurting or killing him, so now you suddenly think you're fit to be a mother?"_

_Sara shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."_

"_Maybe. He's a child, Sara. There are no maybes. Look at this place," Michael said, motioning around the overcrowded apartment. "It's not much bigger than a closet. Where exactly do you plan on putting him?"_

"_He can sleep with me until I can get a bigger place."_

_Michael laughed at the suggestion. "Have you run that one by Hank?" he inquired._

"_Hank doesn't live here," she answered._

"_No, but I'm willing to bet you've had a few sleep overs. Am I wrong?" Sara didn't answer. She just stared at a spot on the wall. Michael, however, found her silence to be just as telling as a verbal confirmation. "That's what I thought. Did you tell him about Connor? Did you tell him about me?"_

_Sara sighed and replied, "No."_

"_Then what did you tell him the other night?"_

_Connor answered for Sara. "Mommy thaid I wady kid."_

_Michael, growing increasingly angry, asked Connor, "What lady?"_

_Connor shrugged. "Me dunno."_

_Michael directed his next question at someone who would know. "What lady, Sara?"_

"_No one," Sara mumbled. "Just someone down the hall."_

"_Someone down the hall? Not yours? Tell me, Sara. Have you told anyone about Connor? The guys you work with, your boss, this mysterious lady down the hall, anyone?"_

"_No," she admitted reluctantly._

"_Yeah, some mother you are. Even better than Laura. At least she told people you were hers." Michael put his hand on Connor's shoulder again. "Come on, son. Get Pookie and let's go."_

_Connor stepped away from Michael and stomped his feet as he yelled, "No! Me want Mommy!_

_This time it was Michael's turn to sigh. Bending down, he took Connor by the shoulders and told him, "I'm sorry to tell you this, son, but Mommy doesn't want you."_

_Again Connor pulled away from Michael. "Wiar!" he accused his father. "Mommy wuv me!"_

_Standing again, Michael responded, "Well, she has a funny way of showing it."_

"_Daddy, pweathe!" Connor pleaded._

"_I'm sorry, Connor, but you can't stay. Your mother has no room for you in her life. Tell him, Sara."_

_Sara glared at Michael and then bent down so she was closer to Connor's eye level. Rubbing a small smear of chocolate off his cheek, she said, "You know I love you, right?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_And that I would love nothing more than for you to live with me?"_

"_Uh-huh."_

"_But your father is right. This place isn't big enough for the both of us, and I work so much that I would never get to stay home with you."_

"_You home now."_

"_Yes, but I had to lie and say I was sick to be here. I can't pretend that I'm sick all the time."_

"_Yuh-huh."_

"_No, baby, I can't."_

_Connor started to cry again. "But you thaid me thay."_

"_I know, and I shouldn't have. I didn't think things through."_

"_You can wiv with me and Daddy."_

"_I can't, Connor. My job is here."_

_Connor put his arms around Sara's neck as he continued to plead, "Pleathe, Mommy! Pleathe! Wiv with me!"_

"_I can't."_

"_Mommy, pleathe! I be good boy."_

"_You already are a good boy."_

"_Mommy!"_

_Unable to take anymore of Connor's pleas, Sara removed his arms from around her neck, stood up, and walked into the kitchen, leaving Connor crying in the middle of the living room. "Just take him, Michael," she directed. "Just take him before it gets any worse."_

_Michael picked up Connor's backpack, put his coloring books, crayons, and bear inside, and slipped it onto the child's back. He then picked up both Connor and the overnight bag and carried them both over to Sara. "Connor, give Mommy a kiss goodbye so we can go," he told the child._

_Connor laid his head on Michael's shoulder and wailed, "No! Mommy wied! Me hate her!"_

_Micheal looked over at Sara. "Well, at the moment I'm not too fond of her myself."_

"Michael convinced me that I couldn't do it on my own so I let him take Connor back to California," Sara admitted. "Before they left, Connor told me that he hated me."

"He was three, Sara. I'm sure he didn't mean it."

"Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. I'm only telling you this now so you can understand that Connor's attitude isn't so much about whether you have ever told him that you love him or what happened with Heather or even with us leaving. It has more to do with stability.

His whole life Connor has been told one thing only to find out that another is true. When I first moved here, I told him that I would only be gone a few days. Then I didn't come back at all. When he was three, I told him that he could stay with me. Then a few hours later I told him to leave. Michael told him time and time again that I didn't want him. Then last year he found out that I did. I told him for years that Michael was his father. Then he finds out that you are. You told him that Heather wasn't your girlfriend. Then he hears about a kiss that makes it seem like she is. At this point, I don't think Connor really knows who to believe or who to trust so he's just taking it out on you."

"So what are we supposed to do to make it better for him?"

"I've been thinking a lot about that since Greg left, and I think I have come up with a solution. I'm just not so sure you're going to like it."

"Okay," Grissom stated, as he put down his sandwich and tried to prepare himself emotionally for what Sara was about to propose. "So what is this solution?"

"For starters, we can't go back to the townhouse. I'm sorry because I know that you love it, and it was our first home together, but I just can't live there. Heather ruined it for me. I see her everywhere. Worse, I see you with her, and that's just one more ghost that I don't need to live with."

"Fair enough. So where do you want us to live?"

"Not us, at least not yet."

"Does that mean you want a divorce?"

"No, not at all. I just think we need to work on ourselves first before we work on each other."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I want you to see a counselor."

"But when I asked you about seeing a marriage counselor a couple of weeks ago, you turned me down."

"I know, and I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."

"Okay, so we'll see a marriage counselor."

"Not just a marriage counselor, Gil. I want you to see someone individually as well. I know that that's going to be hard for you. It's hard for me, but I'm not the only one in this marriage with issues. If you can't agree with that---"

"I'll do it."

"Are you sure?"

"If it's what you want, then yes, I'm sure."

"Okay," Sara said, surprised that he had so readily agreed. "With the economy like it is, I know it's going to be hard to sell the townhouse so I thought that maybe I'd find us a house to rent in the meantime, something with a big backyard for the kids to play in, maybe a swing set. I thought that if I got us a place that was just ours, someplace that wasn't yours or Michael's or Ritchie's first, maybe Connor would feel more secure, especially if was just the two of us and Ava for awhile. Then once Connor realizes that I'm not going anywhere we can ease you back into the picture. Am I making any sense?"

"Some."

"I'm just scared that if we go back to the way things were, if we just go back to pretending like everything is okay and we're just one, big, happy family, sooner or later things are going to explode again, and we'll be right back to where we are now. I don't want that for the kids. I don't want that for me."

"I don't either."

"I promise that I'm not going to shut you out of their lives or mine. We can still have dinner together every night. We can do things as a family. It's just, given what happened yesterday, I don't think that it's a good idea for it to be 24/7 for awhile. Connor needs to learn to trust us, and we need to learn to trust each other again, and I don't think that either of those things can happen overnight. I know you probably think that I'm trying to punish you for Heather, and I'm not. Yes, I'm still mad that you let her in, but this isn't about Heather, or at least it's not just about Heather. It's about--"

"It's okay, Sara," Grissom interrupted. "I get what it's about."

"You do?" Sara asked, surprised yet again by her husband's malleability.

"It's about what's best for the kids. I can't say that I particularly like any of it or that, in an ideal world, I would choose it, but I understand why you need me to agree to it."

"Does that mean you will agree?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

Sara and Grissom finished their meal in silence. When they were through, Grissom got up and threw the boxes away. He then returned to Sara, sat beside her, and took her hand.

"Sara, I know I don't say it enough, but I do you love you."

"I know," Sara replied, squeezing his hand.

"And I do love our kids."

"I know."

"I just wish they did."

"They will. Just give them time."

* * *

Warrick sat in his car, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. He had just come from the hospital. He had gone there hoping to talk to Sara about Catherine. If anyone could understand what he was going through, it was her, but he had found Sara's bedside already occupied by Grissom. He had stood in the hallway, just out of their line of sight, watching them interact. Grissom had gotten up from his chair to adjust Sara's pillows for her. She had looked up at him, smiled, and appeared to say something to him before sliding over in the bed. Grissom had said something back, which had caused Sara to nod. He had then sat next to her and put his arm around her shoulders. Sara, in turn, had leaned against him and closed her eyes.

That's when Warrick knew that Sara had forgiven Grissom. Despite everything that she knew he had done, despite everything that she thought he had, she had forgiven him.

Warrick rubbed absently at the scar on his neck, as he thought about that concept. He remembered what his grandmother had told him after his parents had died, when he was still so angry at them for leaving him that he had lashed out at anyone who tried to help him. She had quoted something that she had once heard Martin Luther King, Jr. say many years before. "Warrick, 'we must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love.' You have to forgive them, child, or you'll never be able to love them or anyone else."

Although it took some time, he had eventually forgiven his parents. Could he forgive Catherine as well?

Warrick did not know the answer to that question. However, after spending several hours with Ava, he had decided he had to try. If Catherine's child was, in fact, his, he could not abandon it. After all, his grandmother had taught him another important lesson. You didn't run away from responsibility. You owned up to it, even when it hurt. That's why she had marched him back to Mr. Jackson's corner store and made him apologize for swiping a pack of Bubble Yum when he was ten. The problem was there was more at stake this time than 50 cents, some processed sugar, and a possible stint in juvie.

If his grandmother could see him now, sitting in his car in the dark, staring at a house like it was the scariest thing in the world, she would have probably shook her head in shame and yanked him out of the car herself.

"Sorry, Grams," he mumbled, looking upwards. "I'm trying." He then got out of his car, walked across the street, and knocked on Catherine's door.

Lindsey answered. "Can't you just get her to make you a key?" she scoffed when she saw Warrick. "I'm getting really tired of answering the door."

"Nice to see you, too, Lins," Warrick replied.

"Uh-huh," Lindsey said under her breath. She then turned to go back to her room. "I assume you can figure out how to shut it on your own."

After shutting the door, Warrick walked into the living room, where he found Catherine curled up on the sofa, a wine glass filled with milk beside her. He cleared his throat, surprising her to such an extent that she accidentally knocked over the glass of milk.

"Great," Catherine muttered, as she looked around for something to sop up the liquid.

"Wait. I'll get something," he told her. He ran to the kitchen, grabbed the roll of paper towels off the holder, and hurried back to the living room. Bending down, he began wiping up the milk. After a few seconds, Catherine bent down, grabbed a few paper towels off the roll, and helped him.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he told her.

"It's okay."

Warrick placed a fresh paper towel over the remnants of the spill and stood up. "You may want to let it sit for a few minutes, absorb the rest."

Catherine stood up as well. "What are you doing here, other than the obvious?" she asked him, nodding at the milk.

"I thought it was time we talked."

* * *

**A/N: The next chapter will jump forward several months in the story. I already have about 10 pages of it written. Hopefully, I'll have the rest soon.**


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